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[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 eight in a series. Number One, Chicago, should be read first.
The morning sun was only an hour old as I crossed the New Mexico/Arizona state line a short time before reaching Lupton, at 1,536 miles past Go, that beautiful clear desert morning. I had just short of three-hundred eighty-six miles to go to get to the California line near Topok/Needles. But my immediate destination was Holbrook, Arizona, and the famous Wigwam Motel. My ’63 Vette, split window coupe (a fully optioned Z06 model) that I call Miss Swifty, was purring like a cat at 100 plus mph as I sped along the Mother Road on the seventy some odd miles to Holbrook. I was twenty-three, single, footloose and fancy free at the time.
If you’ve been following my sexcapades along the Mother Road, you know that back then, I had flaming, naturally red hair on my head and my full, but neatly trimmed bush, a pair of swinging thirty-eights, and the rest of a well proportioned and athletically fit body to complete my five foot four frame.
I knew from my pre-trip notes that the first section of Route 66 in eastern Arizona passes across the southeast edge of the Navajo Indian Reservation–or as the Navajo prefer to call it, the Navajo Nation. The Nation is a large area, larger than the state of West Virginia and contains some 260,000 residents. The most famous landmark of the Nation is Widow Rock approximately twenty miles north of 66 between the state line and Lupton.
Lupton itself, originally a railroad and cattle town, now exists on the tourist trade. Most of the exchange is in trading posts that feature Navajo-made arts, crafts, and souvenirs. Of course, there’s a gas station or two. Route 66 continues on via Sanders and Chambers towards the city of Navajo at 1,567 miles past Go. Nearby are Navajo Springs where Arizona was established as a territory in 1863–just fifteen years after the U.S. had gained control of it as a result of the Mexican War.
It was in Navajo that I picked up another hitch hiker. I’d stopped for coffee again and a pee. The hitcher was in the little cafe having a cup as well. A cardboard sign near him was labeled, Flagstaff. When I exited the ladies room, I ambled over to his table under his obvious scrutiny.
“Do you mind if I join you? My name’s Jen, what’s yours?”
“By all means, join me. I’m called “Red” for obvious reasons, but my name is James.”
“So, Red, have you ordered yet?”
“No, coffee’s all I was gonna have.”
“Sure you don’t want something? It’s my nickel.”
“Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm, I guess I’d not turn down ham and eggs with toast to go with my coffee.”
“You a college boy?”
“Yeah, I’m hitchin’ home after summer session. I’ll be a senior in the fall. I gotta late summer job waitin’ for me in Flagstaff. I’m just a poor college student, too poor to have my own car just yet.”
“Well, Red, I think I’ll have a sweet roll with my coffee. I already had my breakfast.”
A waitress ambled over and we ordered. I told Red what I was doing on Route 66 and he asked some astute questions. The guy was no adonis, but he was reasonably good looking, definitely masculine, and apparently horny as he copped looks at my exposed cleavage whenever he thought I wasn’t looking.
He finished his ham and eggs and we were drinking a last cup of coffee. Red had a dreamy look in his eyes and he wiggled around on his chair a bit more than what I thought normal. His left hand would disappear under the table off an on as along with his wiggling as though something was uncomfortable.
“Tell me something, Red. Do you have cooties, or are you trying to accommodate a boner?”
“Christ, nothing like being blunt about it, Jen.”
“Why beat around the bush? You appear to like what you see, and my bet is you’d like to have some of it. Right?”
“Weeelll, damn it, as long’s we’re being blunt about it, yes.”
“Ok then. You know I’m headed west, so I can give you your lift to Flagstaff for a price.”
“I just told you, Jen, I’m a poor college student. I don’t have enough money in my pocket right now to buy my own breakfast.”
“It wasn’t money I had in mind.”
Red’s interest had definitely picked up.
“No. What I had in mind was a good roll in the hay in Flagstaff before we part company. A really good roll in the hay. You up to that.”
“I’m up to it right now–that’s what all the wiggling’s about. You were right about that. But I can wait ’til Flagstaff.”
“Good. I could use a little company on the road for a while. If you’re a good boy, I might even let you drive fake hospital hastane part of the way.”
When we got to Swifty, his eyes bugged out at what he might get to drive. I got behind the wheel to start out
“Jeeze, I never thought I’d be riding in a Vette. Gorgeous set of wheels, Jen.”
As we rode along, Red told me about the general area at my prompting and questions. Just west of the Navajo community we were just leaving was the entrance to the Petrified Forest National Park set up to preserve the amazing geological and archaeological features. Literally, a whole forest of downed trees was covered by silt and “petrified” over the centuries. We drove on down the highway.
Red said, “On the north edge of the Petrified Forest Park is another tourist attraction, the Painted Desert.”
“What’s that?” Of course I knew most all of this information from my pre-trip research, but it was a way of keeping Red talking. Besides, every once in a while, new little tidbits of information came out that I’d known nothing about.
“The Painted Desert is an area of very richly colored rocks and earth created by the gradual erosion of ancient lake beds. The park also contains quite a number of excavated remains of Native American sites as well.”
We drove on in silence for a bit. In due time, Holbrook hove into view at 1,609 miles past Go. This community is another example of how the railroad was the making of the American West. In 1881, The Atlantic and Pacific Railroad laid its tracks through an area that was know as Horsehead Crossing. The following year, a railroad station was built and the small settlement’s name was changed to Holbrook in honor of H.R. Holbrook, the first chief engineer of the railroad.
“And Jen, the ‘painted ladies’ far outnumbered the ‘proper women’ in the early days. Yes, early Holbrook was a cattle town first, then the railroaders mixed in and the town soon developed all the vices of a typical wild west town.”
“Red, I recall reading something about the ‘Hashknife Outfit’ around this area. What was that”
‘Yes, Jen. The Hashknife’s formal name was the Aztec Land and Cattle Company that began operating in 1884, I think it was. They were the second largest cattle ranch in the U.S. with something like 60,000 head of cattle and the owners employed hundreds of cowboys.”
“Well, think of that.”
“Yeah. Holbrook became the county seat in 1895, which ensured its continued existence. Things slowly settled down, especially with the coming of Route 66 some thirty or so years later.”
With little difficulty, due to the proliferance of signage, I drove up to the Wigwam Village in Holbrook. Since I first read about it, I’d wanted to visit the Wigwam Village (motel) and fuck my brains out in one of its concrete Intian Teepees. The tourist “cabins” (individual teepees or wigwams) of the court was one of the first of seven such complexes built from Florida to California between the thirties and the fifties.
This one at Holbrook had fifteen concrete wigwams that are fourteen feet in diameter at the base and thirty two feet high. Guests face either one or two beds (we rented one with only one bed) as they walk in the door. There’s a window and a TV on the right side with a desk and an air conditioner on the left side. The bathroom door is beside (or between) and behind the bed (s).
Red, and I walked into a relatively cool wigwam as the A/C had been on low. We were both more than ready to get out of the hot, Arizona sun. I was also more than ready for something else, as was, I think, Red. I’d been flirting with him ever since I picked him up in Lupton at breakfast. My usual traveling attire of halter top and short shorts, sans bra and panties, along with bare feet in sandals, gave him numerous and extensive views of my cleavage. This is not to mention my nearly exposed pussy as the seam of my shorts rode up tight into my pussy slit, making a well defined cameltoe. Red was nearly drooling much of the time and a large bulge was showing in his shorts.
As we dropped our bags, I turned to face him, slipping out of my halter top and dropping it to the floor. My swinging 38s stood out proudly, led by my erect nipples, to stare straight at him.
“Like what you see now, Red?”
He needed no further encouragement. Red immediately dropped his mouth to the succulent treat I offered. He expertly kissed and licked his way around the topography. Electric currents radiated outward and downward from my tits to meet the tingling sensations rising from my aching pussy.
“Oh yes, just like that, Red.”
I grabbed Red’s crotch and gave it a not too gentle squeeze. He yelped and bit my nipple. I squeezed his bulge again and he bit my other nipple. He then straightened up, stepped out of his sandals, and dropped his shorts (sans underwear). Out bounced a vividly pulsing, gorgeous dick of a size to please any woman. The pearling precum indicated he was more than ready. I was on my knees in a flash and that fake taxi porno big fuck stick was in my mouth.
God, but he tasted good! Red was trembling from head to foot, he was so keyed up and horny. His dick was throbbing in my mouth. I swallowed and tongued his circumcised head, sticking the tip of my tongue into his prick hole. I felt that dick tense and quickly grabbed it around the base, squeezed hard, and held on. I just managed to stop his latent orgasm in time.
“I don’t want you to cum yet, I want to play some more first!”
“Ummm,” was all Red could say.
As I dropped my shorts and stepped out of my sandals, I said, “Lose your tank top and let’s move to the bed.”
I grabbed hold of his bobbing flesh pole and pulled him to the bed as he tossed his top to the floor. I dropped on the bed on my ass and laid back.
“Fuck my tits, Red.”
So, he straddled me on his knees and plopped his big stick between my tits. I squeezed those thirty-eights into his cock and he proceeded to thrust up and down.
“Go slow so we can both enjoy this for a while.”
I would nibble on his cock head as he reached the top of his up thrust. When Red again pulsed in anticipation of an ejaculation, I once more grabbed the base of his cock in a tight squeeze to shut it down. Not yet, buddy, not yet. I was really excited by then too. My pussy mound was rising and falling in time with the thrusts he was making in my cleavage.
So, at last, I said, “Enough already, now I want you to eat me and then fuck me. Fuck me stupid, until you fuck my brains out!”
“Not just yet, Jen, now it’s my turn to tease,”
Red kissed his way down my chest to my navel. There he made three licking circles around that cavity, which nearly sent me up the wall. He continued kissing and licking down to the neatly manicured lawn on my pussy mound where he made slow circles with his index finger, chasing that finger with his tongue. He had a time trying to contain the thrusting of my pussy while he did that.
Suddenly changing tactics, Red went to my right foot and gave my toes a tongue bath. He worked his way up to my ankle and then kissed his way up to my knee. He worked his way up my calf before he lifted my leg to lick and kiss behind the knee. I was shaking and quivering to beat hell. Keith kissed and licked his way up my inner thigh and back to my pussy mound, all without touching my pussy lips. By that time, I was issuing pussy juice like a leaking faucet, but Red ignored that.
After making two circuits of my mound again, Red went to my left leg and repeated the process in reverse, down the inner thigh to my toes. I just thought I’d been shaking before.
“For God’s sake, Red, I need your cock. Give it to me. Fuck me. I’m dying, Red, damn it all FUCK ME! Ohhhh GOoood, plug my burning hole, you fucker.”
He looked up and winked at me with a smirky smile. Red then moved up into the saddle to rub his cock head up and down my labia, still avoiding my pussy slit until, at last, in rapid succession, he made two swipes with his cock head up and down my soaked and glistening slit. He centered himself on target and plunged his fat cock in to his balls before I knew what hit me.
I was so pent up and heated, I couldn’t hold back any longer. As that big, fat dick hit bottom, I exploded into a mindless and raving orgasm of pussy juice and screams that went on for some time. Red unloaded right behind me, pumping and pumping and pumping his hot cock cream deep into my pussy. Red was still humping me hard as he squirted. With a final squirt and a feral moan, he collapsed on top of me, still fully hard and coupled to me.
We lay like that for quite some time. Red did take some weight off me, but remained hard and plugged in. Then, unbelievably and still hard, his cock did a slow twitch that became a minute thrust that then built into full length thrusts as he came alive again. With very little difficulty, I came alive again as well and met him, thrust for thrust. That time, our coupling was much more gentle and slow, sensual, and incredibly pleasurable. On that one, we orgasmed together in absolute ecstasy.
I looked over at the clock which read six p.m. and said, “Why don’t we shower and go to supper?”
“Sounds great to me, Jen.”
Red proceeded to uncouple and get up. We showered separately, dressed, and went out to Miss Swifty. We found a nice place to eat and enjoyed a great supper. As we were leaving, Red tripped on the sidewalk and fell. Cringing in pain, he said, “I’m pretty sure I broke my leg, you better call an ambulance.”
At the hospital, after treatment and splinting, Red said, “Don’t worry, I’ll call my brother. You can go on with your trip. I won’t be doing much traveling for a bit now.”
When he hung up the phone, Red said, “My brother will be here by mid afternoon tomorrow. The doctor wants to keep me overnight for observation anyway as it was a tricky break. You go on ahead with your plans. By the way, you were the best piece family stroke porno of ass I’ve ever had and I wish you the very best for the future!”
“Oh, Red, thank you. You weren’t so damned bad yourself!”
We had a passionate and lingering good-bye kiss before I left his hospital room with a wave and a swish of my ass.
I went back to the wigwam, stripped, and tried to nap. I didn’t sleep well. I woke up several times to pee and groggily crawled back into bed. The next morning, I phoned Red and found he was doing well and feeling fine. We said good-bye again and I hung up. Back at the Wigwam, I checked out and hit the Mother Road for Winslow, headed for Meteor Crater.
Joseph City was next up, just ten miles down the road. My near photographic mind recalled some the information about this tiny little wide spot in the road, population of around 1,500, or less. It dates back to 1876 when it was first known as Allen’s Camp by its Mormon founders. That makes it the longest established, non-Indian community in Navajo County. In its early days, it was nearly destroyed by flooding of the Colorado River fourteen different times until a successful dam was at last completed.
Nearby was a place I just had to stop in out of pure curiosity. The place is called the Jackrabbit Trading Post, dating from 1949. It became so famous that it announced itself in simple signs: a large black silhouette of a sitting jackrabbit on a big yellow sign board and the words, “Here It Is.” As originally opened, the building had thirty, twelve inch jackrabbit cutouts hopping along the roof line and a large rabbit painted on the side of the building.
A three foot high composition rabbit with yellow eyes was installed just inside the entrance door. That rabbit had more young children on its back for a family picture than anyone can count. I looked around and finally purchased a small jackrabbit stuffed toy as a souvenir and then got back on the road.
As I drove, I chuckled over what helped make the post a legend. It was the advertising. To compete with the numerous other trading posts of the road, founder, James Taylor, joined forces with Wayne Troutner who owned a For Men Only store in Winslow. For a thousand miles, from Springfield, Missouri to Joseph City, the two put up billboards of hopping rabbits paired up with a lusty, dancing cowgirl. Thus were travelers enticed into stopping at the Jackrabbit Trading post with its huge, red on yellow sign saying simply, “Here It Is,” and the Men’s Only Store in Winslow. As merchants have long known. sex sells.
I’d just left the Trading Post with Winslow up next when I checked my rearview mirror to see the flashing lights of a squad car on my tail. Then I heard the siren and saw the officer motioning me to pull over.
“Shit! I sure don’t need to be tied up in traffic court now.”
I slowed and pulled over onto the shoulder apron and stopped. The officer took some time as he checked out my plates, but he eventually came up to my window. Miss Swifty had been idling, cooling down.
The officer first said, “Good afternoon, Miss. Would you turn off the ignition please?”
“Thank you. Did you see that little town back there a couple of miles?”
“Yes sir, I did.”
“Well, I’m surprised that you did. You were running forty miles above the speed limit on the way through and you’ve been scorching the road ever since. I was barely able to catch you. You could’ve taken out any one of our citizens on the street and probably never known it.”
I remained silent. The officer was getting an eyeful of my cleavage and between my legs as I was dressed in my usual short shorts, halter top and sandals. Naturally, I was sans socks, panties, and bra. He noticed that I noticed that he was looking.
Prefaced by a large gulp, he said, “Er, ah, um, may I p,p, please see your license and registration?”
I got bold then and said to the officer, “If you like what you see, I’ll make it worth your while to write me a warning ticket only rather than a full blown ticket.”
I batted my eyes and smiled demurely as I leaned into the door so he could get a really good view of my valley.
After a moment or two of hesitation and a swift look around, the officer said, “Ah…step out of the car, please.”
As I stepped out, I noticed for the first time, the crumbled remains of an old adobe dwelling under a big mesquite tree af few yards back from the road. The officer led me that way.
“Why don’t we get out of the sun, Jennifer, and discuss this in the shade?”
The shade just happened to be behind the ruins, out of sight of the road. The officer’s name tag read, “Joe Jeffers.”
“Well, Jennifer, it looks as if your license, registration, and insurance are in order. Let’s see what you look like and then I’ll decide on what ticket to write. Do the top first.”
So, teasingly, in slow motion, I lifted my top, exposing my swinging thirty-eights with their half dollar size aureole, inch by inch. Officer Jeffers gave a low whistle as my big mounds were finally revealed in their full and naked glory.
“Now, the shorts.”
Once again, I did a teasingly slow wiggle and push down of the shorts, inch by inch until the waistband had reached my knees. Then I dropped them to the ground.
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