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Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Tucumcari

By: caprine



 [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 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? 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. 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.


Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Tucumcari



Twenty-nine minutes later, there was a knock on my door.

The door opened at my touch. I stood there, my pussy and boobs on full display in all their naked and glowing glory. Donny just stood there, mouth agape and eyes bulging. After a short pause, he turned and fled at speed, back towards the lobby. I guess I came on a little too strong for him to stomach.

What the fuck do I do now?

I closed the door and retreated back to the room table. My pre-trip notes occupied me for the next several hours. Hunger finally decided my next course of action. I dressed in my usual traveling clothes and went out in search of my supper.

"Why so glum, Miss?"

I'd been slowly eating my supper with a morose, apparently sad, defjected look on my face. The voice startled me out of my reverie of feeling sorry for myself and I spoke before I thought.

"If you really want to know, a very studly young college kid took one look at my naked body and retreated post haste in fear of his--well, manhood, I guess."

"My name's Todd. His loss-my gain. Perhaps I can help. May I join you?"

"Why not? My name's Jen."

"So, what am I doing here, dear Jen? I'm a regional manager for a large pharmaceutical manufacturer. My region is roughly the Southwest. I'm looking for a companion for the night and I thought you might possibly fit that bill."

"Just like that, Todd? No lead in come on line?"

"Just like that, Jen. Why beat around the bush. No strings, no commitments, just a pleasant sharing by two souls passing in the night."

"Ok, but I want to finish my meal first."

"That's fine. I've had mine already, but I'll have more coffee while you finish."

"There's something else bothering me."

"And what might that be, dear lady?"

"Well, I went skinny dipping earlier today and the bodies of two little boys..."

After my story, Todd said, "Yes, I think I know what that was all about. The story would be more apt to happen around Albuquerque than here in the Tucumcari area, but still, not out of the ordinary. You see, you likely encountered a version of the La Llorona ghost, the so called, 'Ditch Lady'that wanders up and down ditches/canals, looking for her lost and drowned children or alternately, a child or two to steal to replace the drowned ones of her own."

"Did that really happen?"

"Legend says that she is thought to have murdered her own children long, long ago. Parents often repeat the legend to their children in order to get them to behave. Some people have reported seeing her ghost searching endlessly and others report the 'floating bodies' like those you saw. There are dozens of ghost stories just around Albuquerque, let alone the rest of Route 66 in New Mexico. I travel a lot in my job and I've heard most of them over the last dozen years.?

"Well, Todd, I've a history of seeing Route 66 ghosts ever since I left Chicago. I still shudder every time a new incident happens.That nerver happened to me before I started this Route 66 trip. Why me? Why now? I simply don't know."

"In that case, how 'bout we return to your motel room and sort of 'take your mind off' such scary happenings?"

"I'll go for that, Todd."

We drove our separate vehicles back to my room at the Blue Swallow Motel. Todd open the room door and ushered me in. He followed me in and closed the door behind us. As I stood, looking around, Art grabbed me from behind by my tits and immediately nuzzled my neck, ears and hair. His hands had pulled my top down and were rapidly roaming around on the fleshy mounds of quivering flesh that he had bared. My hips were already in slow motion in the timeless motion of eros, undulating forward and back, back into a more than pleasing erection.

I felt Todd's thumbs hook under the waistband of my shorts and the cool air on my bare ass as they were pulled down and dropped to the floor. I slowly turned to face him. He ripped my panties free and flung them away. He then shed his few clothes. As his shorts dropped to the floor, I got my first look at the full and naked equipment he carried. My first Black meat! 

I grabbed hold of that long, black missile and said to Todd, "Let's go back outside. I want to do something I've always wanted to do ever since I bought that car." 

And so, I led him by a handhold on his big dick to the long, sleek hood of the Vette. I laid on my back along that shiny surface, the hood vents on either side of the centerline not withstanding, with my head pointed to the cockpit, and spread my legs. 

"Eat me, Todd, and then I want you to fuck my brains out on this car!"

Todd needed no further encouragement! He dived between my legs and proceeded to work me over with his very long tongue. I was equally astounded by his tongue length as I was by the length of his dick. He licked up one side of my outer pussy lips and around on my Mons and down the other outer pussy lip. He did this for a couple of minutes. Then he licked up and down my slit. I was writhing and bucking like a wild rodeo bronc. Todd finally got to my clit, and OHHH Goooood! He bit and chewed, licked, and tweaked with his thumb and forefinger and sucked---and I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed. Then I exploded.

I sprayed pussy juice in spades. Before I could stop coming, Todd mounted me on theit on the car hood, his knees grabbing purchase on the slick metal car skin. He held me down and stabbed that monster fuck stick in me and thrust all the way to his balls and he exploded in a scream of pleasure. And suddenly, of all things, there was quiet, light applause!

When I peered over Todd's shoulder as he froze in place, I saw a young man, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. The meeting joint of the towel ends was right between his legs. Lo and behold, a full, beautiful erection was poking out, splitting the curtain open and with precum glistening in the moon light. 

He quietly asked, "Any chance of saving a little of that pussy for me?"

With a loud sucking noise, Todd backed his empty and deflating cock out of me and got down on the ground. I just lay there on the hood of my Vette, my legs splayed wide, with pussy juice and cock cream all over my pussy, thighs, and the car.Todd was also a matted, smeary mess between his legs. 

The guy said, "I'm Al. My wife and I were sleeping and I woke up needing to piss and heard these screams out here just as i finished. I came out to investigate and . . ."

I just crooked my right forefinger at him in that timeless 'come hither' motion and said, "Less talk, more action."

Al climbed up and mounted me. He wiped his man meat up and down my slit, sinking deeper into it with each pass. When he reached my love canal, he poised his cock head in a moment of hesitation. 

I yelled, "Damn it all, shove it in and fuck me!" 

Well, Al used his hand to wiggle his cock and tease me some more before he suddenly complied to my wishes. He arched his back deeply and plunged in balls deep in one, swift stroke. 

He wasn't quite as long as Todd, but he was much thicker and I liked that a good deal better. Al's thick dick pulsed, throbbed, and wiggled as he screwed it around. He reached a hand between us and diddled with my clit. Well, I couldn't take much of that. Once more I shuddered into orgasm this time multiple ones one after the other, shaking and gasping for breath. I didn't have much pussy juice left, but Al shot more than enough cock cream to make up the difference. 

Eventually, I said, "Get off, I want to suck you dry and clean you up and then I want to do the same to Todd." 

Doing so to both got them both fully erect again in short order. "Now," I said, "I want you each to take turns and do me." 

So, while Todd started sucking and licking on my pussy, Al licked and sucked on my big boobs. After a few minutes, I said, "All right boys, now you two switch places."

Just as we finished, I heard this female voice call out, "OK, Al, you don't get to hog all the action, you pig, bring them here to our room so I can have some fun too!" 

Well, Todd and I looked at each other and shrugged. I grabbed Todd again by his erection and twitching dick and pulled him along as we followed Al to his room and his waiting wife, Dixie.

Dixie was a slightly, but only slightly, overweight, five foot two inch strawberry blonde with generous but not enormous, tits. She was standing, naked in her birthday suit. One hand was rubbing her boobs and the other was finger fucking herself in rapid motion. 

As we all entered their room, I said, "OK boys, you may be hard again, but you still need some battery recharge time to perform your best. And, I want to see more cock cream again. So, you guys just go sit for a while."

With that, I stepped up to Dixie and dropped my mouth to her tits. I licked and sucked up and down her cleavage, then around one tit and nipple and then the other. Dixie was shaking and moaning from my first touch. She was running her hands up and down my sides while I did her tits. My left hand grabbed her crotch and rubbed, hard. Dixie orgasmed at least once.

I pushed her slowly backward until she fell onto the bed. I told her to climb into the middle and then mounted her in a sixty-nine. As she spread her legs wide, I plunged my mouth and tongue into her pussy with a vengeance. I lowered my pussy over her mouth and she wetly slurped away on me. With my middle finger deep in her pussy canal and my thumb in her ass, Dixie shuddered into a roll of orgasms, one after the other.

Before I realized what she was doing, Dixie, still shuddering, ran a dildo up and down my wet gash and shoved it, unceremoniously, into my ass. She just as quickly, shoved a second one into my sopping pussy hole and then she turned them both on to full vibration power. Jesus H. Christ, I literally shot forward and fell off the end of the bed onto the floor. There, I lay flat out on my back and bucking and heaving, shaking and shuddering like no one I'd ever seen before. I screamed, I cried, I shrieked, and I exploded, almost literally. I blew the pussy dildo clean out and it went under the bed, still buzzing loudly as it vibrated.

Dixie was still smoldering in shudders of orgasm up on the bed, still trickling pussy juice down her ass onto the sheet.. The two guys just sat dumbfounded in their chairs, mouths hanging open, and watching us in awe. Shit, I was so spent and drained, physically and emotionally, that it took half an hour before I could move, let alone get up. Dixie just lay quietly on the bed, also temporarily drained and dazed.

Finally, I said, "OK boys, time for you to have some fun again!" 

The night was young yet! I told Todd to lay on his back on the bed and for the other two to wait for instructions. Art's pole was sticking straight up in the air for his full bloated length and twitching for action. I licked his man meat up and down for a bit and then straddled him on my knees, facing him. I rubbed his cock up and down my slit as his precum mingled with my rapidly leaking pussy juice. I diddled him on my clit almost too long and nearly orgasmed.

So, I centered pussy over his pole and impaled myself all the way to his balls. I felt my cervix retract to make room, but he still managed to get at least the tip his cock head into my cervix opening. I just sat there, impaled an shivering in ecstasy. 

I said, "Al, lube up and plow a furrow into my back door, and be quick about it, I'm nearly ready to cum." 

Al did as instructed and eased into my poop chute with his thickly engorged pole until I felt his balls bang into my ass.. 

"Alright, both of you hold it a minute. Dixie, you lay beside us so I the boys can use their hands on your boobs and cunt." After she did so, I said, "OK boys, let's move!" 

Everybody moved then in slow motion at first. Then the tempo began built, faster and faster. I stayed almost motionless as Todd and Al banged away at my front and back doors. Dixie was writhing under the roving hands of both guys. After no more than five minutes of this, one after the other, we blew our loads. Cock cream and pussy juice now flowed liberally all over the sheet under us, making a sticky, wet mess.

Al backed out of my butt with a pop and Dixie first used a wet rag on him before I licked and sucked him clean and dry after I raised up and plopped Todd out my pussy. Dixie then turned to Todd and went to work on his black cock (her first) to lick and suck him clean and dry. But she couldn't resist and mounted him for a ride of her own when he stiffened again as a result of her ministrations to his magic wand. When she finished, they cleaned each other up.

The rosy glow of predawn light was showing before we finally had enough and quit to get at least some sleep before resuming our separate journeys down old Route 66 to seek new kicks. 

In my own room, I slept the day through. I got up in time for a late supper and promptly went back to bed to sleep through the night as well. The time was an hour before dawn when I popped instantly awake, alert and refreshed. Another trucker style breakfast of steak, eggs, french fries, oj, toast, and coffee got me fortified for the morning. I checked out of the motel and got Miss Swifty fueled and rolling again.

Down the road from Tucumcari lay the wide spots in the road of Montoya, 1,220 miles past Go; Newkirk, 1,232 miles past Go; Cuevo at 1,241 miles past Go; and Santa Rosa at 1,258 miles past go. Quite near Newkirk, the road passes over what was the Goodnight-Loving Trail where earlier cowboys once pushed their herds of southern cattle northward to the railheads in Denver and Cheyenne. Montoya harbors Richardson's Store and Sinclair Station which has been in continuous service since 1925. These places didn't have long to live. In the next decade, many of them would be the ghost towns they were fast becoming

Distinctive billboards along the route, picturing a jovial, smiling faced fatman, advertised the famous Club Cafe in Santa Rosa. The club boasted the best biscuits and gravy in the southwest. I stopped for coffee and had my thermos filled before setting out once more.

Originally, Route 66 beyond Santa Rosa made a northwesterly trek to Las Vegas before descending for Santa Fe down the infamous La Bajada Hill. That hill was a twisting mass of serpentine switch backs that saw its share of auto accidents. The road went through Albuquerque to Los Lunas before finally turning west again.

In 1926, New Mexico governor A. T. Hannett gave orders for a new "cut off" that would connect the road seven miles west of Santa Rosa to an existing highway from Moriarty on into Albuquerque. This reduced the drive between Santa Rosa and Albuquerque for 195 miles to 114 miles. This route was very close to that taken by the later, paved highway that officially replaced Route 66's "Santa Fe Loop" in 1937.

Between Santa Rosa and Albuquerque lie more wide spots in the road labeled as Cline's Corner at 1,13 miles past Go; the aforementioned Moriarty at 1,333 miles past Go; Edgewood at 1,344 miles past Go; Barton at 1,349 miles past Go; Tijeras at 1,357 miles past Go; and finally, Albuquerque itself.

Cline's Corners has been pumping gas since 1934. However, Cline's has not always been in the same place. The actual place location was moved from Lucy to the junction of Highway 6 and Highway 2, but relocation of Route 66 forced yet another move in 1937. Old-timers laugh when they remember that Cline sold gasoline for ten cents a gallon and water for one-dollar a gallon. Water was obviously a scarce commodity in those days. The year after I was there, a new post office was constructed.

The trip was only one-hundred and fourteen some miles, so it was still only midmorning when I motored onto Albuquerque's Central Avenue which was Route 66 through town. At that point, I'd reached 1,372 miles past Go. I pulled into a small cafe for lunch and to recollect some of the local history I'd boned up on in my pre-trip research.

Albuquerque's history goes way back some 12,000 years when the Anasazi Indians first settled in the area. The year 1540 saw the coming of the Conquistador Francisco Vasquez de Coronado in search of the mythical Seven Golden Cities of Cibola. Though Coronado left empty handed, that didn't stop even more Spanish settlers arriving in the area, looking for the elusive yellow metal. 

The Pueblo Rebellion of 1680 discouraged further settlement until Spanish General Don Diego de Vargas arrived in 1692. By the beginning of the 18th century, the area that would one day become Albuquerque was called Bosque Grande de San Francisco Xavier. In 1706, a provisional governor, Francisco Cuervo y Valdez, petitioned the Spanish government for permission to establish the bosque as a formal villa and call it Alburquerque after a Viceroy of that name. Later the spelling was changed, dropping the "R" because some influential person couldn't pronounce that letter.

During much of the 18th and 19th centuries, Albuquerque was little more than a dusty training center along the El Camino Real or the Royal Road, linking Mexico and Santa Fe. Close-knit Spanish families accounted for most of the population living around the central Plaza in what would later be called, "Old Town".

Change came with the establishment of the Old Fort Smith Wagon Road between Arkansas and Santa Fe in 1839. For a decade, few people cared about or even knew of the existance of that obscure trail until the discovery of gold in California in 1849, and the subsequent phenomena know as the Gold Rush of 1849. The territory had been claimed by the U.S.A. when Stephen Kearny established an army post. After the Civil War, American merchants and tradesmen began to arrive in the Albuquerque area in growing numbers. In 1889, the University of New Mexico was founded in there, bringing with it, not only knowledge, but also new and different cultures to the community.

The place on Central Avenue I chose for lunch tand where I did this review of my notes was the famous (Route) 66 Diner. Although housed in a genuine Phillips 66 gas station of a bygone era, the diner's a modern and highly effective replica of an old style eatery. It offers a combination of tradition--old photos on the walls, old tunes on the juke box, classic dishes on the menu--and some wild contemporary touches. 

The area in and surrounding Albuquerque is rich in history, both Spanish and Anglo as well as that of the native American Indians. One place I did check out in town was the Kimo Theater that dates from 1927. It combines native American and Art Deco influences. I hope many of you get to check it out someday. After my visit to the theater, I had to motor on down the road.

The older route of old 66 went south for some miles before going west again. Had I taken that route, I would've been able to visit a number of historic sites and old towns such as Isleta Pueblo. This pueblo is the home of the Tiwa tribe who descended from the remote Shoshoncan stock, The Shoshoncan stock in turn were the first people to enter the Americas some 30,000 years ago. 

Another site a few miles further on was Los Lunas. rich in ancient American Indian, Spanish, and Anglo cultural history. But, I'd need at least a whole chapter to describe all that. So, I chose to motor on out of town directly west on the newer alignment of old Route 66.

The road crosses the Rio Grandeon Albuquerque's Old Town Bridge and leaves the city behind as it climbs Nine Mile Hill, so called because its summit is precisely nine miles from the center of town. A side trip south on Unser Boulevard, which I chose not to take, would have taken me to Petroglyph National Monument.

That monument is part of the area which includes Boca Negra Canyon, is all part of the West Mesa escarpment. The escarpment is part of a seventeen mile long lava carved prominence containing more than fifteen-thousand rock engravings called, petroglyphs. The etchings are of humans, animals, and and other undeciphered symbols going back some 3,000 years. Maybe some day I'll get back that way.




Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Tucumcari



Anyway, back on my route, I found just a short distance beyond the summit of Nine Mile Hill, the Rio Puerco in the Rio Puerco Valley at 1,391 miles past Go. That waterway is a tributary of the Rio Grande and the site of an historic road bridge over Route 66. It's no longer open to traffic as a conservation measure. Bridges of this type, known as a "Parker Truss" design, are dwindling in numbers though not yet rare.

I took long distance shots for overall perspective and then walked over to take close up photos of the historic bridge. Such bridges were built by a number of contractors from the late 19th century onwards, and were sometimes supplied from a catalog as a prefabricated kit. Such was not the case with this bridge.

Other Parker Trusses can be seen as widespread as Wisconsin and Mississippi, but this one, built in 1933 and remodeled in 1957, is the longest single span example in New Mexico. It measures 250 feet and is constructed from ten twenty-five foot panels.

Back on the road again, I drove through New Laguna and Paraje, both by then little more than ink dots on a blotter. They do have histories, but obscure ones. One exception I stopped to photograph was the famous Church of St. Joseph in Old Laguna close by to New Laguna. The church was built by Franciscan Friars from stone and adobe in 1705 and was still in regular use.

Pointing Mess Swifty down the road again, I drove the short distance to famous Budville at 1,427 miles past Go. This settlement was name for Bud Rice whose father founded a highly successful service station and towing service there in 1928 on an otherwise quite desolate stretch of road--desolate as in "out in the middle of nowhere". Across the road is the old King's Cafe and Bar. A couple of pictures and I was on my way again.

A few miles further down the road brought me to Vila de Cubero at 1,429 miles past Go. See how close some of the little towns and hamlets were along Route 66?Just as the planners intended. Cubero, named for an old Spanish governor, was only organized in 1937, but, like those everywhere else along the "Mother Road", the town's tourist courts were popular for Route 66 travelers. 

Those travel courts in Cubero were so popular that Ernest Hemingway stayed there during the time he wrote Old Man and the Sea. Also Lucille Ball stayed in those courts after leaving her husband, Desi Arnez. Who'd of thought that, out in the middle of the wilds of New Mexico!

Another fourteen miles down the road through the New Mexico desert brought me to San Fidel. Mostly. Fidel is know now simply for the number of its declining or abandoned cafes and gas stations. Two miles further brought me to McCartys, New Mexico. For many years, one of the famous Whiting Brothers gas station, motel, and restaurant complexes graced the little burg. Those station complexes, which were run by four famous brothers, once consisted of forty-four franchises stretching from Shamrock, Texas to Barstow, California. The Spanish Colonial style church in McCartys, dating from 1933, still operates.

Again, all these little hamlets were either ghost towns when I went through or would be in the very near future as I-40 replaced old Route 66 a decade or decade and a half later.

At 1,446 miles past Go, I drove into Grants, New Mexico. There, Route 66 runs through the heart of the lava beds known as Malpais which is Spanish for "Badlands". or "Evil Country". Those great floes of hardened lava range from fifty to two-hundred feet wide and forty or more feet high. They are recent--only one or two-thousand years old. The lava is punctuated by "ice caves" whose interiors, insulated by the lava, remain perpetually below the freezing point--even when the outside temperatures climb to 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

One other tidbit about Grants comes to mind. In 1950, a local rancher by the name of Paddy Martinez, found an odd yellow rock in the nearby Haystack Mountain ten miles west of town. It turned out to be uranium and that brought the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission in to begin mining the ore that fueled the cold war weapons of the fifties and sixties. The find also fueled a "Uranium Rush" as locals bought geiger counters and took off for the hills to prospect.

The area uranium reserves turned out to be one of the largest in the world and the population of Grants boomed from some twelve hundred people to nearly twelve thousand. Though losing some of its population when the mines closed, Grants had a diversified economy, so it continued to thrive and eventually settle down to around nine thousand in population. 

For the Route 66 enthusiast, several icons still remain including the Lariat Lodge, Grants Cafe from 1937, the Sands Motel, Lavaland Motel, the now closed Lux Theater, and others.

The roadway led further west through Milan, Bluewater, Prewitt, and Thoreau on the way to Gallup and the Continental Divide, Yes, Thoreau was named for the famous writer although he had nothing to do or no direct connection with the town. The Continental Divide is roughly five miles West of town at 7, 275 feet above sea level. Many tourists like to use the pull over there and have their pictures taken beside the marker sign. The name, Continental Divide, comes from the fact that the line is the north/south running line of the highest point of the mountains that separates the westward flowing rivers from the eastward flowing ones.

I had to make a side trip of a few miles to see the historic Fort Wingate Military Reservation. The fort was originally established as a trading post in 1860. A full fledged fort was established was added in 1862. Soldiers were garrisoned there during the Civil War. After the war, the fort functioned in the capacity of military surveys, escort functions, and patrols against raiding Indians. Among the soldiers associated with the fort were such as: Christopher "Kit" Carson, John "Black Jack" Pershing, Douglas MacArthur (he was born there), and several Navajo Code Talkers who served in the Pacific during WW II.

The fort was still operating in my time, 1963, but was involved as a rocket launching testing site. The original trading post was sold to a private individual and was also still operating in 1963. The town of Fort Wingate grew up around the fort and trading post.

Thirty-one miles further on, at 1,508 miles past Go, I finally reached Gallup, New Mexico.

Gallup is one of the oldest towns in the United States, tracing its history back to 2,500 BC with the settlement of the Anasazi. White men began to populate the area in 1880 when the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad began to push its way westward. The railroad paymaster, one David Gallup, established a small company headquarters along the projected railroad right-of-way. Rail workers soon began "going to Gallup" to collect their pay. 

The small headquarters was formally named Gallup after the paymaster in 1881 when the railroad actually came through town. Gallup was incorporated as a town ten years later and a local government was set up. In 1901 the community became the county seat of McKinley County.

In the early days, Gallup was a typical, western frontier town--albeit somewhat more quiet than most. The town had its share of saloons, false store fronts, wooden sidewalks, and a single road paralleling the railroad tracks. There were occasional, minor Indian uprisings, but the soldiers of nearby Fort Wingate were able to discourage any major attacks. Most of the citizens carried side arms in a hip holster or stuck in the waistband of their pants until a law in 1896 limited that practice.

Route 66 came through town in its opening year of 1926. The highway brought with it the usual growth of service industries to fill the needs of travelers, but the most prevalent businesses were the dozens of Indian Trading Posts that sprang up displaying Native American arts and crafts.

December 17, 1937 saw the birth of a Gallup icon, the El Rancho Hotel. That establishment was built by the brother of the movie magnet and director, D. W.. Griffith. The hotel quickly became the temporary home for many Hollywood stars as well as a stopping point for tourists. During its heyday, the hotel hosted Ronald Reagan, Spencer Tracy, Katherine Hepburn, and Kirk Douglas, among many, many others. Errol Flynn is said to have ridden his horse into the bar while he was in residence there.

I decided to stay the night in the El Rancho as it had been a very long day and a very long drive. In fact, it was during breakfast the next morning that I did most of this history review of the area. The night before, I got in my room, stripped, and dropped in bed to sleep the night through.

Gallup is the last major urban center on Route 66 in New Mexico. The remaining twenty-five odd miles of New Mexico Route 66 road lead west through Allison, Mentmore, and Manuelito before crossing the state line into Arizona. After my morning breakfast, I got Miss Swifty fueled and pointed her down that road once more. My mind was already drifiting with the fact that it'd been quite some time since I'd had any quality sex.

Go, Swifty, go!

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Finis

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