[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. As such, the story may or may not totally conform to reality. With some occasional historical exceptions, all other places, events, and persons, are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]
NOTE: This is the seventh part of a series. It is advisable to start with part one, Chicago, and read in chronological order.
After a long absence, Jen is finally back on the road again.
The morning was still dark at four o’clock as I finally got out of Glenrio, Texas at 1,159 miles past Go. I was mulling over my pre-trip notes in my mind and contemplating the three-hundred and seventy-five some odd miles of Route 66 stretching through New Mexico. I was barely able to read the signs as I flashed by, even on high beams. I guess that was because the speedometer registered 130 mph at that point. Yeah, 130 mph and Miss Swifty wasn’t even up to top speed yet.
I know this isn’t only about my car, but I have to brag, just a little bit anyway. If you’ve been with me since Chicago, you already know about Miss Swifty. She was a 1963, Corvette, a split window coupe. And not just any coupe but the Z06 coupe. General Motors only made 199 of the them and the whole split window coupe line only that one year. And of those, only 50 (mine was one) were delivered with the big, N03 36.5 gallon fuel tank.
She had the L84 FI, 327 CI, 360 HP engine with the G81 positrac rear end. Other parts of the $1,818.45 Z06 option package, added on to the base price of $4,257.00 were: the M20 four speed tranny; special, heavy duty racing suspension; special big brakes unique to the Z06; and the P48 knock-off wheels. It has been reported that there are only two sets of these P48 wheels in existence today.
The option list went on, but you get the idea. This car really wasn’t meant for the casual street driver, but intended for serious racers. That was a lot of money, a lot of serious money in 1963, the year I bought her new. But, in 1963, I already had a lot of money, so I could afford her and her insurance. I was also twenty three and loved fast cars. Yet today, I still get a wet spot in my panties when I think about that car! I’m wet now.
Anyhow, back to Route 66 and New Mexico. My ultimate destination was California, but I had to get to Albuquerque first. And before that, came Tucumcari, some fifty or so miles ahead. Funny, but I’d always dreamed of “cuming” in TuCUMcari.
According to my pre-trip research, New Mexico had only been part of the United states since the war with Mexico ended in 1848, and a state only since 1912. But the region has a long history, stretching way back in human history. Hispanic explorers first laid claim to the area in the 1500s. Prior to the Hispanics, the region had been occupied by Native American Indians for some 10,000 years.
I was hoping to catch some of the flavor of all that history on my journey through the state on the Mother Road. Speaking of which, the Mother Road originally took in the state capital at Santa Fe. But, already in 1937, this northerly detour was abandoned in favor of a more direct path straight west to Albuquerque.
The changing landscape also interested me. The eastern part of New Mexico is much like the Texas Panhandle–a dry, level, dusty, windswept plain. But in the western half beyond Albuquerque, the largest city in the state, lie the San Mateo Mountains. Those mountains contain the highest portion of the state where Route 66 crosses the Continental Divide at 7,275 feet.
A picture perfect landscape. And I just love another line from John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath about this:
“That’s the end of Texas. New Mexico and the mountains. In the far distance, waved up against the sky, the mountains stood. And the wheels of the cars creaked around and the engines were hot, and steam spurted around the radiator caps.”
The migrants of the 1930’s must of had a God awful time of it compared to my cruising along at an average of one-hundred miles an hour in air conditioned comfort. I can’t even imagine their travails! I wonder how Miss Swifty will handle those mountains. Meanwhile, back to my driving.
From my pre-trip research of this area along the Texas-New Mexico border and elsewhere in the west, I discovered that some of the old, unpaved sections of the road can still be followed by a car. Comparatively little of the original Route 66 was new construction or even paved at its opening in 1926.
Rather, large sections of the route were simply existing local roads which were spliced together to create a makeshift highway called Route 66. I was looking for one of those areas–an unpaved section of the original two lane 66 that was still supposed to run from Glenrio through Endee five miles further west and then on to the remains of another, almost vanished settlement of Bard.
Problem fake hospital hastane was, in the dark, I couldn’t see much anyway. Poor planning on my part to leave Glenrio so damned early in the morning. Thus I was screaming down the hardroad at 130 miles an hour.
But I did recall that I was zooming through the tiny hamlets of Endee, 1,164 miles past Go, and Bard, 1,170 miles past Go. I remembered some of the local history from my notes. Endee’s population had dropped to 110 by 1946. I knew the town to be all but deserted by the time I went through.
Bard had a similar history. At one time the town had a population of 195, but it had also been all but abandoned–due to location changes of Route 66.
Early on, the area was cowboy country. That meant heavy drinking and shootouts. These activities were once so common place and the bodies so numerous that the authorities at Bard would have a ditch dug every Saturday, ready to receive the bodies of unlucky shootists the next morning.–or so the rumor goes.
A bit further down the road lay another tiny little hamlet, San Jon (pronounced San Hon) at 1,176 miles past Go. Founded only in 1902, this little way-stop was once a busy place of three-hundred population for early day Route 66 travelers with several gas stations, garages, motor courts, and restaurants. In those vintage days, San Jon was the largest town of those eastern plains and was the hub of cowboy night life on Saturday nights.
My inability to see much in the dark hours didn’t matter much. These little communities at this time were but tiny bumps in the road with nothing to see anyway. Mostly, just memories of the past remained.
My attention was jerked back to my driving when my headlights suddenly picked out a hitch hiker on the shoulder up ahead. As I flashed by at over a hundred miles an hour, all I saw was that he was a tall, dark, thin male.
Without really thinking about it, or maybe subliminally thinking about TuCUMcari, I braked, locking Swifty up for a couple of seconds or more. Those special big brakes brought her to a very quick stop. I was the only car in sight as I did fast Uee and burned rubber back to the hitcher, where I did another fast Uee and pulled up beside him with another screech of tires. His eyes were bugged out and his mouth was wide open in astonishment.
“Hey,” I yelled through the lowering window, “I’m Jen. Where you headed?”
Back to UCLA in California, and my name’s Art.”
“Well, Art, get your good looking ass in here and let’s get going!”
By the way, I strongly urge anyone, especially women alone, NOT to pick up strangers on the highway this day and age! Back in 1963, it wasn’t quite so risky, but I was still foolish at that dark hour.
Be that as it may, Art moved his ass and jumped in. I burned rubber at each shift, all the way through fourth gear as we roared off in a fog of exhaust fumes and tire smoke. I went through tires pretty fast in those days. Gas was a hell of a lot cheaper back then as well!
As I said, I was thinking horny thoughts anyway before I picked up Art, and looking him over only increased the horniness. He looked to be about five or six years older than I, had dark hair cut in a flat top, and had the dark eyed, swarthy look to go with the hair. Art was so tall that he was a close fit in the car. He was broad shouldered and broad chested and well muscled, at least as much as I could tell. For all his muscles, he had the lean look and he said playing soccer probably helped keep him that way.
I was a pretty good looker, myself, in those days. I was a flaming, natural red head, top and bottom and in those days, still sported a full, but trimmed bush. I still do. As for the rest of my body? Art complimented me on that and he wasn’t the first to do so.
We weren’t ten miles down the road before Art was trying to hide the fact that he was rubbing his dick. It probably didn’t help that our conversation had turned quite sexy almost immediately after he entered the car. I was keeping the speed down as I was looking his way quite a bit and when he saw me staring at his crotch, he openly massaged his dick over the top of his short shorts.
“What nice boobs you have, Jen.”
“The better to tease you with, Art. And my, aren’t we getting extremely fresh right out of the starting blocks?”
“Why waste time? You had some idea of what might be up if you stopped for a hitcher in the wee dark hours as you just did for me.”
“Smart ass. What else do you see that you like?”
“Well, it’s damned dark in here to see much, but besides your boobs (and he suddenly had my right one enclosed in his large hand underneath my braless tube top), I like the looks of what I can see of those long, lean legs. I can’t see your ass or how all of you fits together ’till we get out and in some better light.”
“God, flattery will get you anywhere, Art.”
“That’s Tucumcari just ahead, Jen. Can we pull off to eat? fake taxi porno I’ve not had a meal since noon yesterday.”
“What’d you have in mind eating, Art.”
“Food first and then we’ll see what’s for dessert.”
At 1,199 miles past Go, we drove into Tucumcari. The sun was just up. As we motored into town, Art spoke again.
“You know Jen, you’re one hell of a sexy looking piece of ass. Do you perform as well as you look?”
By the end of that sentence, I saw the helmet shaped head of his fuck stick poke out of the leg of his shorts, fully exposed. And it seemed to be growing longer yet as he caressed it. I could also see pre cum on the tip, glistening in the early morning sunlight.
My response was a coy smile as I took one hand and pulled the tube top up to my neck, fully exposing my swinging thirty-eights. I also have very large aureole and big nipples that, under stimulation, erect a full and twitching half inch. They did so then, almost instantly upon exposure.
“Fuck,” Art said and promptly raised his ass and slid his shorts off and down to his ankles, exposing the fact that he wore no underwear and exposing a monster cock he claimed to be so long I won’t even repeat the figure. He slowly stroked that huge cock as he looked at me.
For those of you who’ve never been seated in a Vette, you have to know that those long, deep foot wells are not conducive to sex activities. They really fence the occupants in well. The bucket seats in those days weren’t true buckets and totally lacked lumbar support. The middle console was low, but still protruded up above the seat level and continued forward at the same level, to where the gear shift stuck up, all contributing to the “fence” between the to occupants of the cockpit.
So, temporarily, we remained apart, Art slowly stroking himself with his right hand while I played with my tits with one hand and steered Swifty with the other. Art would occasionally use his left hand to help me out with my tits.
“Ok, Art, there’s an eatery that’s open for the breakfast crowd. Get yourself decent and let’s go eat.”
We gorged on a breakfast fit for kings. We were done eating, just sitting in the booth, sipping our last cup of coffee. Art suddenly got a surprised look on his face, groaned, and collapsed face first into the booth table and slopping his coffee in my lap.
After a momentary daze, I jumped up and rant over to him. No pulse. A man sitting behind me came to my aid, we got Art on the floor. The stranger did the compressions and I did the breathing as we tried to revive Art.
“Call an ambulance,” I managed to scream between breaths for Art.
The medics arrive in six and a half minutes. They took over resuscitation efforts but indicated they thought Art was already dead. So it proved. Art was pronounced D.O.A. at the emergency room. The police were right there and I underwent a long interrogation in a nearby room.
The middle aged cop couldn’t keep his eyes off me. That distracted him enough that he didn’t do quite the professional job of interrogation that he really should of. Who am I to complain? Finally, the cop closed his questioning of me.
“We’re satisfied for now, Miss, but don’t plan on leaving town just yet. At the minimum, we need to wait on the autopsy results.”
“Fine, I’ll find a room for now.”
“Just leave the address with the station when you get your room.”
Primarily to get my mind off what had just happened, I thought a bit about my pre-trip research, what to do, and where to go. Tucumcari was once a very important stopover on Route 66 in New Mexico. Huge signs encouraged weary travelers to make their temporary destination “Tucumcari Tonight”. One of those sets of rooms advertised on such billboards still existed at that moment in the form of the Blue Swallow Motel which originally opened in 1942.
In 1958, the Blue Swallow was acquired by a local trailer park owner, Hoyd Redman, who gave it to his fiancee, Lillian, as a wedding present. Lillian made the motel an oasis of homespun hospitality and it was there that I pulled in to get a room for the duration of the investigation into Art’s death.
The very young desk clerk, Donny, according to his name tag, was ogling me and my skimpy costume as I came in the front door and walked up to the front desk. I was still dressed in my traveling outfit that so engrossed the mind of the cop who interrogated me. That is, a tight tube top sans bra, tight short shorts sans panties, and sandals sans socks.
My boobs bounced, my ass swayed, my lips beckoned, and my eyes smoldered. Donny obviously tried to detain me as long as possible with questions in order to keep ogling me. I decided I still needed something to keep my mind off Art, so I decided to oblige Donny and see where it all would lead. I could also pump him for information about Tucumcari as a lead in.
I hit a gold mine. Donny was a history major at a nearby university and had grown up in Tucumcari. family stroke porno I asked my first question.
“What’s this town like, Donny?”
Happy to keep me standing in front of him, Donny gladly responded.
“Oh, it’s quite different now from what it was in the so-called old days, back before the turn of the century. Before the railroad, the town was called Douglas and was nothing more than the usual small, rural communities that served the locals. Those locals were typical farmers, ranchers, businessmen, and such who came to town for provisions or provided those provisions. But its growing position as the ‘gateway to New Mexico’ brought in ever growing numbers of new people–travelers, drummers, and railroaders.”
Donny had to pause and wipe the slight drool from his face with his handkerchief. His eyes constantly shifted between my eyes and my generous display of skin in the area of my tits. I couldn’t see the area, below his waist behind that counter, but I bet he sported a woody to be proud of. Business appeared to be really slow at the time, so he continued while still ogling me with bulging eyes.
“The appearance in 1901, of the railroad brought significant change to the town. The town developed the ominous nickname of ‘Six Shooter Siding’. The building of the Chicago, Rock Island, and Pacific Railroad created an overnight tent city of whore houses, gambling halls, cafes, saloons, and what not typical of ‘end of track’ sites. But the town didn’t die when the railroad moved west;. It remained a rowdy, frontier town for some time.”
“Is ‘Tucumcari’ an Indian name?”
“Yes, it is;. It’s a loose derivation of the Comanche word for lookout.
“So what happened with the coming of the railroad, Donny?”
“That was the making of the town. Some of the first businesses to open in 1902 were the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel with $2 a day rooms, the Monarch Saloon, as well as many other bawdy saloons, a furniture store, a livery barn, a boarding house, several mercantile stores, and the Exchange Bank.
“But the rowdiness changed over time didn’t it?”
“Yes. Later, especially with the building of Route 66 and on later, the need for law and order, peace and quiet let to the taming of the town and it developed into the tourist center you see now. In fact, it’s become a full fledged ‘tourist trap’ in some parts, especially along 66. And then…”
“Donny,” I interrupted, ” It’s almost noon. I’ve been busy at the hospital since breakfast and I’m starved. When do you get off work?
“My shift ends at four this afternoon. Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just thought I could use some company while I have to wait around town.”
“Why do you have to wait around?”
“I’ll explain that later. Are you interested?” Silly question.
“Oh, yes, you bet I am!”
“Well then, let’s get me registered so I can go and have some lunch. Then I’ll see you at four.”
I turned and walked out, ass swaying.
The thought of a picnic once again entered my head, even if I did have to picnic alone this time. Obtaining the necessary food items, I found the old road between Tucumcari an Glenrio and drove back east a ways on it ’til I found a little stream and enough trees along its bank to provide some shade.
After a delicious lunch, I looked at the stream. God that water looked cool and inviting. Maybe a little skinny dipping was in order. Well, it was but little effort to shed my skimpy costume. I left the sandals on and waded into the stream, my bare ass and tits shinning in the dappled sunlight and shade.
I’d been wading around after a short swim until I looked up and saw something floating my way. As it drifted closer, that something appeared to split into two somethings. Nervously, I stepped back to allow room for the unidentified objects to pass me by. Suddenly, I jerked–almost falling off my feet.
My God, it’s two bodies. Two little kids, floating face down!
I reached out to the closest one. Just as I touched the body with the top of my index finger, the body dissolved into nothingness! As I reached for the second body, the same thing happened. The water was again completely empty save for me standing their naked and confused, not to mention incredulous.
Shit! More ghosts? God, I’ve got to get out of this ‘land of enchantment’.
Well, I couldn’t do that just yet, but I did exit that creek right quick like and drove back to the motel. Donny wasn’t in evidence and I had a little over two hours before his shift ended, so I hiked on down to my room. I set my travel alarm for three thirty, shed my few clothes, and sprawled out across the bed. I was asleep in short order.
The jangling travel alarm woke me. But I woke up refreshed, even more so after splashing some cold water on my face. My hair combed, I dialed the front desk. I was still naked.
“Front desk, Donny speaking, may I help you?”
“Jen here, Donny. When your shift ends, come to my room.”
I hung up before he could say anything. He’d either come to the room or he wouldn’t. We’ll see how horny he is in about thirty minutes. I passed part of the time by giving my body a light sheen of baby oil. That action quickly produced erect nipples and a trickle of pussy juice dampening my nether lips.