1 comments/ 11702 views/ 2 favorites Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Tulsa 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. 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 five in a series. At least chapter one should be read first. Preferably, the story should be read chronologically in order to keep up with the setting and the carry over from chapter to chapter. Also, a reminder that real ghost stories have been reported all up and down the Mother Road since its very beginnings. It's unknown if such experiences are still happening on the restored sections of the old road. ****** Only thirteen and a fraction miles of Route 66 used to pass through the "Sunflower State". I say used to because, in 1960, Old Kansas Route 66 was decommissioned and the entire mileage abandoned when the new Interstate system by-passed Kansas altogether. From the start of my trip in Chicago, I'd been skipping back and forth between the newer four lane Route 66 and the older versions. Since the Kansan abandonment was only three years old, I had no trouble finding and driving on it. The Kansan thirteen odd miles of the original Route 66 ran across the extreme southeastern corner of the state, taking in Galena, Riverton, and Baxter Springs, before crossing into Oklahoma. Kansas was quite proud, and remains so, of their little piece of The Mother Road and not a bit happy to lose it. In fact, Kansas had its own special Route 66 marker--a black "66" on a yellow sunflower. To further help visitors stay on track and on the old route, the state also painted the standard "66" federal badge and number directly onto the road in some places. The introduction of the Will Rogers Turnpike in 1953 was the beginning of the end for the Kansas segment of Route 66. The turnpike made it possible, as an alternate, to drive directly from Joplin, Missouri to Tulsa, Oklahoma for quite some time before the Interstate system followed suit and thus, both new routes by-passed Kansas completely. Cruising along in my split window Vette coupe, which you can read all about in the Chicago part of my story, I felt horny again. Damn, it'd only been a short time ago since that truck stop back in Missouri. I've told you before how much I like and need sex. But after my Missouri sexcapades, I really needed to take some recuperation time before my next serious roll in the hay. We'll just have to see. About that time, I drove into Galena, Kansas, five-hundred and ninety miles past Go. Once more, my pre-trip planning and notes came to my aid as I thought about the history of the area. A lot of mining labor troubles had occurred here during the 1930's. I suspect there is a lot of history on that topic, but mining is not one of my interests. I kept driving. Six miles further down the road I came to Riverton, Kansas, and a special object of interest. That object was one of the few remaining Marsh Rainbow Arch Bridges--this one across the Spring River. These bridges date from the 1920's and are of all concrete construction. Like all road lanes of the original road, the bridge floor was eighteen feet wide--two nine foot lanes. Two main side supports, resting on piers, are in the shape of rainbow-like arches with spokes radiating downward onto more piers. They serve the dual purpose as supports and bridge railings. The origin of the bridge name is obvious. There is a second such bridge that spans Brush Creek just north of Baxter Springs. Seeing at least one of the bridges was my major reason for visiting the Kansas section of Route 66. I took numerous pictures, of course. They are architectural beauties and the product of the civil engineer, James Barney Marsh. Anyway, there was a temporary barricade to prevent vehicles getting out to the bridge. I'm not sure the bridge was used anymore anyway. So, I had to walk some distance to get to the bridge itself. I got some pictures and moved closer. As I moved, I heard some noise, sounds, something, coming from a grassy bank across the road and at the foot of the bridge. I eased over that way, quietly and carefully. What I saw, took my breath away. A naked couple was doing a sixty-nine on the grass. He was on the bottom--she was on top. My first impression was that neither was all that attractive. But that didn't seem to stop them from what they were doing. Click, click, click went my camera. The middle aged guy was puffing already. The girl, a bit overweight, suddenly spun around and raised up. Click. She reached down and positioned his cock. Click. With a groan, she impaled herself. Click. Then she went to work in ernest. Click. Oh, hell--click, click, click some more as I moved around a bit for different angles. I thought they were much too busy to notice me. But, I guess I was too much out in the open because the woman suddenly called out to me rather breathlessly and without breaking her stride. "You could get better pictures in closer. Fact, why don't you just come and join us. Bert here likes threesomes." Startled, I blurted out, "Sorry, I'd really love to, but I'm on a pretty tight time schedule today and can't afford the time. I barely had time to get the bridge pictures. I'll take a rain check, though." She just grinned and returned her concentration to her fuck stick ride. I retreated. I really wasn't on a tight schedule, but I just didn't fancy joining those two for some reason. I returned to Swifty and headed back to the Mother Road. Baxter Springs, six-hundred and three miles past Go, was once a key staging area for cattle being driven from Texas on the Shawnee Trail. The town was also the site of the Baxter Springs Massacre in 1863, when Quantrill's Confederate Raiders came to town. The Confederates captured an entire detachment of Union troops and then executed them. Jesse James is alleged to have targeted the town bank later in 1876, but no substantial proof of such exists. But Henry Starr, the so-called "Cherokee Bandit," later did rob the bank in 1914. Henry was nephew to Sam Starr, husband of Belle Starr, "the Bandit Queen," made infamous by Richard K. Fox, editor of the National Police Gazette. It was also there in Baxter Springs that I stopped at an area between sixth and seventh streets to take a look at historic old Fort Blair. The American frontier and the Indian wars are another special interest area of mine. Fort Blair, also called Fort Baxter, was established by Union troops in 1862. I knew that the raid by Quantrill's Raiders had massacred some Union troops here, including some Buffalo (Black) soldiers, but that is about all I knew. And then, so help me God, it happened again. I was exploring and poking around some of the restored area of the fort. As I approached the end of an old building, a Black soldier in Union blues came around that corner. Without saying a word, that trooper challenged me with a leveled musket with a spike bayonet pointed right at my swinging boobs! "Oh, my God," I yelped in surprise as my hand automatically rose to my mouth With that, the soldier turned on his heel in a drill perfect about face and disappeared back around that same corner, out of sight before I could come out of my shocked trance. At last, I carefully peeked around the corner. The apparition was, of course, long gone. Then I yelped in startled surprise a second time as a voice behind me quietly said, "Don't be alarmed Ma'am, if you just saw a Buffalo soldier. It's a common occurrence here." It was the site administrator or ranger or whatever. "God, that's two scares in less than ten seconds. Are there any more surprises coming?" The ranger chuckled a "Don't think so," and then went on to explain, "After the Civil War, this old fort was abandoned while nearby Baxter Springs began to grow. Houses were eventually built over the former site of the old fort." "That was a shame," I replied. "Yes, well, the Baxter Springs Historical Society has just gotten interested in resurrecting old Fort Blair and has begun the purchase of houses sitting over the old site. However, according to one of the locals, the land and at least one of the houses, came with the ghost of one of those long ago heroic Buffalo soldiers." "That must of been a surprise." "Yes, it was. Allegedly, when one elderly resident was making negotiations for the sale of her house, she said, 'If you buy the house, the ghost goes with it.' The old lady went on to describe a dark man, wearing a military uniform. The soldier had not been known to cause any trouble, he just liked to show up every so often." "That must of bee a bit disconcerting to some--like me." "I'm sure it was. The real-estate agent, for one, was so frightened when she encountered the spirit, that she turned and fled. Hasn't been seen since." "Well, that ghost sure startled me. It happened so quickly I didn't have time to get scared. This is not the first time I've had an encounter with a ghost on this trip. That's what's really beginning to frighten the daylights out of me. How many more, I wonder?" "Well," replied the ranger, "If you're not intimidated, enjoy the rest of your visit at our fort. Meantime, I'll be around to answer any questions you might have before you leave." "Thanks." He was a damned good looking guy. Too bad he had a full shift left and I didn't have the time to wait around to attempt to seduce him. But I thought about it, and did stay around a while longer, until I'd seen all I was going to see. Miss Swifty rumbled back to life at my touch and I pulled back out onto the hard road. There's much more history in this little corner of Kansas and this little piece of the Mother Road, but I'll leave that for you to discover. Just past Baxter Springs, I drove Miss Swifty across the sate line Into Oklahoma. "Oklahoma--OK," in the words of the Rogers and Hammerstein musical, was the birthplace of the Mother Road in the actions taken by Tulsa's Cyrus Avery. It was also he who picked the famous double six symbol. I gave more detail on the birth of Route 66 earlier in my story,. Ironically, Oklahoma was also the first state to deal the Mother Road its first official deathblow when in 1953, the Turner Turnpike, later incorporated into I-44, was opened between Tulsa and Oklahoma City. That action by-passed about one-hundred miles of Route 66. In so doing, it dealt the first of many deathblows to the multiple business that serviced those closed sections of road, a pattern that would continue until the road and the businesses it supported were dead and gone. The Will Rogers Turnpike between the Missouri border and Tulsa opened a few years later. It would be far from the last time that this would happen in the history of this unique road. In fact, in time, this major by-pass would lead to the total decommissioning of the entirety of Route 66 as other states followed suit. There was just no stopping the federal government's new program to provide wide four-lane, straight-as-an-arrow, limited access highways across the nation. Slowly, section after section of the old road would be gobbled up and tossed on the garbage heap, until 1984, when the last segment of Route 66 was decommissioned and people thought it was all over. HA, Ha. Long live Route 66. John Steinbeck sort of began the nostalgic revival of interest in U.S. Route 66 with the publication of his novel, The Grapes of Wrath in 1939. Just the mention of Route 66 conjures up in many. the vision of Oklahoma and the "Oakies" fleeing the dust bowl and the depression of the 1930's in their westward flight to California in search of "the better life." A quote from his book says it all:: "66 is the path of a people in flight, refugees from dust and shrinking land, from the thunder of tractors and shrinking ownership, from the desert's slow northward invasion, from the twisting winds that howl up out of Texas, from the floods that bring no richness to the land and steal what little richness is there. From all of these the people are in flight, and they come into 66 from the tributary side roads, from the wagon tracks and the rutted country roads. 66 is the mother road, the road of flight." The Mother Road has never really left the American consciousness since--not during its piece-by-piece dismemberment, nor in the years since its total decommissioning. New Route 66 museums continue to spring up. The road's nostalgic memories continue to grow unabated. When I drove through on my 1963 trip, a fair amount of the old two lane route was still in use, though the newer four lane, unlimited access version was fast making it obsolete. And that was still before most of the Interstate system was built. I wanted to drive on as much of Oklahoma's three-hundred-eighty to four-hundred miles of old 66 as I could find. Crossing the state line, I encountered the first small community, Quapaw at six-hundred and nine miles past Go. Quapaw was another area of past lead and zinc mining. Not a great deal was left. I did have the need of another pit stop for both me and Miss Swifty, so I pulled off the road into a mom and pop gas station so common on the old road of the past. As I walked back to Miss Swifty, a young stud was standing next to her, admiring her. "Sharp car. She brand new?" "Yes. I just bought her a short time ago--in Chicago. I'm on my way to L.A. with her. I'm doing the Route 66 thing." I noticed a cardboard sign leaning against his leg, but the back side was towards me. I couldn't read what was on the other side. He also wore a stuffed back back. That wasn't the only thing that was "stuffed," by the way. Interesting. "You hitching?" "Yep. I'm heading to Tulsa and the university there. I need to catch a ride pretty soon as I'm due back for a party there tomorrow night at my fraternity. By the way, my name is Bob." "Jen, here. Well, it's only about ninety miles, but I'm taking the old portion of the Mother Road as much as I can, so it'll take me a bit longer than usual to get there. You're welcome to ride with me if you want." "I'll take you up on that offer, Jen. A hot sports car and a gorgeous babe. How could I turn that down?" "Oooh, flattery will get you everywhere, Bob." I unlocked and said, "Get in, Bob, it's time we got moving." Swifty growled into life at my turn of the key. Like a macho male, I shifted into first and couldn't resist showing off a bit. I spun a spray of gravel as I gunned Swifty onto the pavement. I got good rubber as I shifted into second, again with the shift to third, and yet again with the shift into fourth. "Wow!" was all Bob could say in awe. I had Miss Swifty up to 120 miles an hour in not much more than the blink of an eye. Swifty performed effortlessly, seemingly enjoying the the stretch of her "muscles". "I'm truly impressed, Jen." "With what?" "The car and how you handle her. With you as a female as well." "There's that flattery again, Bob . Careful, it might get you somewhere." He chuckled with a bit of a smirk. Bob was as gregarious as I. We began an almost nonstop conversation, swapping stories, joking some more, and just general bullshit. But we were also sizing each other up in the process. His eyes were as busy as mine--at least when I wasn't having to watch the road. The readers that have been with me since the start of my trip already know that I'm a twenty-three year old, natural red head. They also know I sport a handsome and quite ample pair of swinging boobs. Swinging because they're unfettered. I normally wear halter top, short shorts, sandals and no underwear--top or bottom. I'm no Greek goddess, not by any means. Nor am I a ravishing movie starlet, but I'm not all that far from such depictions. If I do say so myself, I do turn male heads all the time, not to mention some female ones from time to time. Bob was a typical, more or less, college stud in the near adonis category. Tall, broad, handsome, and fully packed. At least he looked fully packed and as he eyed me over, the package he sported, grew considerably. I don't think much more needs to be said. A short six miles down the road brought us to Commerce, the home of Mickey Mantle. I'm not a baseball fan, so that was of little interest to me. Bob didn't even bring the subject up. He was interested in me. More small towns went by: Miami, Afton, Vinita, and Foyil, until I drove into Claremore at six-hundred and Eighty miles past Go for a pit stop for me again. I'd been drinking Pepsi almost nonstop and you know what happens then. Claremore is also the home town of the famous Will Rogers and has tons of memorials, museums, and memorabilia relating to him. I wasn't all that interested in that man any more than I had been with Mickey Mantle and Bob had a time problem, so we kept going. Then I got an idea. I turned to Bob and asked, "Would you like to drive a bit? I need to relax a little." "I sure as hell would like to get my hands on you, uh, that is, on your girl here." Freudian slip? Whatever, I slowed and pulled over. We both got out and swapped seats. Bob pulled Swifty back onto the roadway and handled her very deftly and expertly. He accellerated swiftly through the gears to better than eighty miles an hour very smoothly. Typical male, I guess. Now, driving on Route 66, even the more modern four lane version, took a bit more concentration than driving on the modern, Interstate replacement. Most roads, even four lanes, before the Interstates, were UNlimited access roads. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry's driveway or farm lane, or any other country road and highway, not to mention all streets and businesses in a town, had direct access to the the roadway. Each access point was a potential accident site. So, what I'd in mind doing next would require Bob to drive and keep his eyes off me a bit. Ha Ha. Dumb me. The road was momentarily free of traffic in the passing lane. "Bob, pull up beside that semi ahead and stay even with the driver's window." Bob nodded and smoothly added in power to quickly cruise up beside that big rig. As he eased up to the tractor window, I eased my right hand into my halter top and massaged my boobs. In that low Vette, I had to nearly hang out the window for the driver to see much, but see he did. I pushed the halter up and exposed my boobs to swing freely in the fresh air as I tweaked and played with my nipples. The truck driver watched with a grin from ear to ear. Bob also looked. He looked so long and hard he nearly ran us into the side of the truck. The trucker gave two blasts from his air horns as I let him look a little longer. Still facing the trucker, I said to Bob, "Hit it, big boy, lets go." Swifty shot forward on down the pike, accelerating rapidly. When I turned around to look at Bob, I saw the waistband of his shorts was down low and the head of his cock was more than peeking out above it. Clear liquid was making the tip of his glans shiny. Far from taking Bob's attention away from me, I'd rather drawn it my way more than ever. "Oh, did ole one-eyed Pete there see something he liked, maybe?" "Oh, God, fuck," was his response. I reached over that darned high center console, my bare boobs swinging away from my chest in the process, to drop my hand into his shorts and grab onto his throbbing cock. My stroking began slowly enough, but the tempo increased rapidly to a blur of motion. Bob was too aroused to hold out long. He suddenly erupted like a small volcano. Cum shot into the air and dropped back all over his tank top covered chest, his belly, and my hand on his dick. "Feel better now?" I asked. "Oh, God, fuck," was his answer once more. Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Tulsa I still hadn't replaced my top, so Bob had a tough time deciding between watching the road or my swaying boobs. His still semi-erect cock was still peeking out at me. Increasing traffic made his decision for him. He had to watch the road more than me. When he could breath normally again, Bob said, "My fraternity is having a big bash tomorrow night. I'm sure the men would enjoy having you around. I know I would. Will you come?" Well now, the thought of a university fraternity house just chock full of young studs with raging cocks was quite an enticing thought. My answer was a forgone conclusion. "I'd love to. What time? "The buffet starts around five and the party goes on from there until..." We drove on in silence until we neared Catoosa. I replaced my top and told Bob I wanted to stop and see the big, blue painted whale I'd read about. It's a walk in model that kids walk into through the whale's mouth and then climb a stairway to reach a slide that dumps them into a swimming area below. There was also a reptile zoo in a sort of Noah's Ark contraption. The place was a real tourist attraction. After taking the requisite pictures, I said to Bob, "We have a lot of daylight left yet and I'm starved. Why don't we grab some stuff at a store and picnic in the country for a quick bite?" "That sounds good to me. I'm half starved myself." As we checked out, the kindly, middle aged, grocery store man asked, "Going on a picnic are you?" "Yes," I answered, and almost as an afterthought asked, "Know any good spots to have one?" With a decidedly mischievous look, he answered, "I think so, yes. It's only six miles east of here, but well worth the look see for your picnic. It's the old Timber Ridge Cemetery. You should be alright in broad daylight." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Oh, nothing. You'll be fine." "Well, how do we get there?" After noting the directions he gave us, I said, "Well, that's back the way we came, but six miles isn't too far to have to backtrack." We picked up our sacked up purchases and went back to Miss Swifty. We drove out on State Route 412 and found the place easily and quickly. We set up in the shade under a large oak tree. We didn't rush our picnic, but neither did we loiter overly long. Bob tried to get amorous, but I put him off by saying, "Not now, Bob, we have to get back on the road for now." We packed up and got back in Miss Swifty. I brought her back to life and headed her back to town. We'd barely gotten underway when, out of nowhere it seemed, came this dark skinned little kid on a bicycle and we hit him, hard. The sound of the crash was terrible. I jammed on Miss Swifty's extra big racing brakes and screeched to an immediate halt. Bob and I piled out of Swifty like she was on fire and ran the short distance back to where we'd hit the bike. No body--no bike! "What the hell" Tell me this isn't happening yet again?" Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We walked in a daze, back to Swifty and her front facade. We found several deep scratches and a small dent in left corner bumper. There was also a few scratches in the paint of the fender that went deep enough to scratch the fiberglass body. Once again, I cried, "What the hell? Those marks weren't there this morning. I swear they weren't." I told Bob about the ghost experiences that had been happening to me on this trip. Apparently, this was another one. "And," I added, "they're scaring the shit out of me now. I'm not scared of the ghosts; I'm scared of what's wrong with me that I can see them. Am I crazy, psychic, or what?" Even though I didn't want to take the time, Bob said we had to report the incident to the police. So, we drove back into Catoosa to the police station. Who'd believe a ghost story, I wondered. After we told our story, the officer just chuckled. For a third time, I asked, "What the hell?" The officer just raised both hands shoulder high, palms outward towards us, and proceeded to tell us a story. According to this apparently locally well known story, a young Indian boy was struck and killed by a car while the boy was kneeling beside his bike there on the road. The boy was buried in Timber Ridge Cemetery in the first row, next to the gate at the bottom of the hill. Right near where we picnicked. The story goes on to relate how, not long after the boy was buried, drivers began to claim sightings. They claimed that as they came over the hill, they would spot a young boy kneeling next to his bike and that they often had to swerve to miss him. Other drivers reported that they distinctly heard and felt the car strike something. However, when they pulled their vehicles over, a body could not be found. Some even reported bloody hand prints on the fenders and damage to the front of their cars. The Catoosa Police Department has a number of files of such reports, including in some cases, picture of the damaged cars. No body was ever found. Still other people have reported receiving mysterious nosebleeds when they passed by the cemetery gate. There are even reports of the gate acting as though it had a life of its own such as some who have sworn reports of the gate opening and closing with no observable human assistance. The officer concluded his story by saying, "Welcome to the club. I hope you aren't too upset over the incident." "Now," I said to no one in particular, "I know the reason for 'that look' and that comment made by the grocery store clerk." The officer chuckled again. "Oh, it's not the incident itself. It's like I told Bob, it's the number of incidents happening to me, one after another on this trip that has me a bit disturbed. So far as I know, I'm not psychic and nothing like this has ever happened to me before. That's what's scaring me." "Well," said the officer, "You two have a safe trip on the rest of your journey." As Bob and I approached Miss Swifty again, I looked at that front corner bumper with its scratches and said to him, "I'm not quite ready to get behind the wheel again just yet. Anyway, since it's just a short drive on to Tulsa and you know where you're going, why don't you drive from here?" "Suits me. I've been hoping I could get my hands on you, uh, er, I mean, on your girl here again before we got to the frat house." "Still with the flattery, eh, Bobby boy?" Bob just grinned his smirky grin and saod. "Gotta keep trying. I'll break through and succeed yet." As bob pulled onto the pavement for the final run into Tulsa, some six-hundred plus miles past Go, I had an inspiration. Whether out of mischievous impulse or as a distraction for what had just occurred, I didn't really know which, maybe both, I pushed my top up. Once again, my naked boobs swayed in the open air. "I'm hot and need to cool off a bit in the breeze." "Jen, sometime, you're going to tease me once too often and then lookout. I won't be responsible." "Promises, promises, Bobby boy." None-the-less, Bob couldn't keep his eyes off me. It was all he could do to keep Swifty in the lane. He passed a couple of semis and I again turned to face the truckers and gave them an eyeful or two. Loud blasts from their air horns signaled their appreciation. Not that I'm an exhibitionist, mind you. Ha, ha. "Jeeze, that really felt good," I said. I could tell from the bulge in his pants that Bob was feeling something as well. I reached over and caressed his jaw. He just swallowed hard and ground his teeth. I think he muttered something like, "Damned tease," but I didn't quite catch it. We were nearly to the fraternity house before I replaced my top, much to Bob's relief or maybe to his dismay. Street lights were already on as dusk settled in as Bob wheeled into the circular drive in front of his frat house. He came to a stop with just a little screech of the tires. That, and the burbling exhaust, was just enough noise to get the attention of several of his frat brothers up on the verandah who looked up with interest as I exited and went around to replace Bob at the wheel. Bob wore a cheesy grin as he looked toward the his brothers. "They can't believe their eyes," Bob said. "Ole Bob who rarely dates." "Well, Ciao until tomorrow night, Bob. Hang in there, you might get lucky yet." With that, I revved Swifty's engine once to let her growl really good. Then I got rubber in first and second gear as I blasted out onto the street and pointed Swifty's nose toward downtown. I found a motel, registered, and immediately got the shower running. I lost my few clothes in a blink and hopped into the cascading hot water. I had a long day ahead and an even longer, arduous night ahead--I hoped. Thus I intended to spend this night alone and asleep. I definitely wanted to be in top form for the frat boys at the party. But, I needed to brush up on my pre-trip research notes first. After my shower, I settled down at the little table in my room and laid out my research. I remained comfortably naked in the cozy, warm room. I found the history of Tulsa intriguing. The area of the present city, out in the middle of what was then known as Indian Territory, was settled by Native Americans in 1836 when they were forcibly made to relocate along the end of the infamous Trail of Tears. That was the result of the Indian Removal Act of 1830. Some of the resettled Indians called their location, Tallahassee, while others used the Creek Indian word "Tulsy" which meant "Old Town." For the next twenty-five years they would lead a peaceful life in a primarily untamed wilderness with only a few white settlers in the area. In 1846, Lewis Perryman, who was part Creek Indian, built a log cabin trading post near what is now 33rd Street and South Rockford Avenue. His business was quite successful until the Civil War, when many residents fled the area. Federal troops abandoned the area to be sent back east to fight the war. Indian Territory would disintegrate into the chaos of lawlessness and banditry that would last until President Grant appointed Judge Isaac Parker in 1875 to rule over the federal district that included all of Indian Territory. Parker's court was located at Fort Smith, Arkansas on the eastern border of Indian Territory. Eccentric, "Hanging Judge" Parker and his fascination with the singer Lilly Langtree is a fascinating study of its own but beyond the scope of this story. The important thing is that by whatever means, Judge Parker did restore law and order, more or less, to Indian Territory. Tulsa grew as a result. The city of 1,100 people was incorporated on January 18, 1898. Oil was discovered in 1901 and Tulsa changed from a cow town to a boom town. In the 1920s, more oil deposits were found and Tulsa, now a city of 100,000 boomed even more in the roaring twenties. However, on May 30, 1921, a black mark in its history came about in one of the most gruesome and devastating race riots in United States history. The riot was over in twenty-four hours. But it left thirty-five city blocks in charred ruins, over 800 people treated for injuries, almost 1,400 homes destroyed, and estimates of as much as 300 dead. But Tulsa survived and continued to grow. As already mentioned, Cyrus Avery of Tulsa, along with John Woodruff of Springfield, Missouri, conceived the grand idea of linking Chicago to Los Angeles and began lobbying efforts to promote the new highway. The rest, as they say, is history (of Route 66). Tulsa itself would continued to prosper and grow, especially so with the 1970 opening of the Port of Catoosa. This linked Tulsa with the rest of the world via river navigation to the Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico. By the time I finished pouring over my notes, the clock read five-forty-five in the morning. I sprawled across the bed and was almost instantly asleep. The clock read past noon when I finally opened my eyes the next time. My stomach growled in hunger, so I dressed quickly and headed out to find food. I pulled up near a trendy looking place that appeared to be catering to the university crowd and was about to enter when I saw an approaching beat cop. He was giving me the once over in a lustful sort of way, not the just a curious cop sort of way. I stopped him and said, "I just got into town and I'm invited to a party later and need a costume. Do you know of any women's shop or party clothes rental store?" Officer Tanner, the name on his I.D. tag, replied, "As a matter of fact, I do. There's one near the middle of my beat." Officer Tanner proceeded to give me directions for reaching said shop and I thanked him profusely. Hunger winning out over clothes, I decided on breakfast, or very late lunch, first. Then I drove to the store mentioned by officer Tanner to try to find a suitable dress. The store was quite large and had a huge inventory of party favors, decorations, clothes for men, women, and children, shoes, and about anything else one could need for a party. I went looking for a cocktail type dress. The young coed that waited on me was near my age and very pretty. She had a delicious looking body with boobs nearly as large as mine. I really wouldn't mind to get my hands on her tight, round ass or what was between her legs, for that matter. "Now, just what made me think those wicked thoughts?" I softly whispered to myself. The name on her I.D. tag read, Sue. I found out Sue was good at her job, very good in fact. I was pantyless and braless, so I left my shorts and halter top on for the fittings. Sue helped me in and out of two possibilities that I rejected before she brought out the one I knew I'd take. This one was plain and unadorned, but a brilliant red satin and it was strapless. Sue came into the dressing room with me to help again. I said, "I want to see how this will fit without these tight shorts." I hooked my thumbs behind the waistband of my shorts and dropped them, slowly and seductively, to the floor. Sue gasped and dropped her jaw as she stared at my bald and gleaming naked pussy. For good measure, I also unhooked my halter and dropped it onto the floor. The lust in Sue's eyes was unmistakeable. Sue immediately stepped up to me and bent to fondle, kiss, and suck both tits and both nipples. She bit and snapped on my nipples until I felt pussy juice trickle down my legs. She dropped a hand to my pussy, felt the wetness, and immediately went to her knees to lap up my juices with enthusiasm. My but she was using a talented tongue. She was finger fucking me vigorously as she laved away with her tongue, keeping up with the outflow of my moisture. My orgasm was deep and powerful. Sue stood up, dropped her slacks and thong and said, "Now you do me, I'm so hot I feel like I am burning up. Suck my pussy." So, I did. I returned the favor. I licked and sucked on Sue's slit and her clit, bringing her to an equally deep and powerful orgasm. When we both had come back down to earth, Sue helped me into the dress. That dress was practically second skin around my boobs, it was so tight. But, the dress fit me to a "T" otherwise. I was already running late, so I told Sue, I would take the dress and I would wear it, since no alterations were going to be necessary. There was not time for any alterations anyway. I went out with Sue to the cash register and whipped out my credit card to make the payment. There was some jewelry displayed at the counter and I saw a beautiful, single strand of pearls that I also purchased and then put around my neck, with Sue's caressing help. Sue pointed me in the direction of the shoe department and told me to ask for Dan and to tell him that she had sent me over there. Arriving at the shoe department, I slipped out of my sandals and sat down. Two young studs headed my way, intent on serving as my sales clerk. I asked if Dan was around. One of the two turned away with a long look of disappointment. The other said, "Hi, I'm Dan, how can I help you?" He asked this with a grin that was nearly a lustful leer. My answer was, "Hi, my name's Jen and I want to buy some black, pattent leather pumps." Dan pulled up a fitting stool, sat, and used the measuring board to find my size. That new cocktail dress was quite short, mid calf on me. Dan glanced up to say something to me, but his gaze never got above my crotch level. I'd made no attempt to pull my dress hem down as it wouldn't have moved much anyway since there was insufficient slack to pull down as a cover. I had also left my legs spread some Well, as a result, there was one, whole, naked, and now glistening pussy on full display. Dan swallowed hard, gulped, and then sighed, "Oooohh!" He just managed to check the readings on the measuring board and then stood up with a face radiating wonderment--and lust. As he stood, I noticed his instant hard on tenting out his pants. Dan didn't try to hide his erection. I think he was to stunned, he simply forgot what he was showing, or he didn't care. When Dan returned with three boxes, his hardon was apparently so stiff that he was hurting. Dan managed to sit and helped me try on one of the pairs of shoes. Once again, he got hung up, looking up my thighs at my bare pussy. I said, "You can touch it if you like." He finished getting one shoe on my right foot and then put his hand under and up my dress. He had some very talented fingers. He expertly slid his middle finger up and down my slit and under my clit. He had me really wiggling in seconds. We had semi-privacy for the moment as there was no one else in the immediate vicinity. It was a good thing, because now Dan took a shoehorn attached to a long handle about as big around as his center finger, reversed it to handle first, and pushed that up under my skirt. When he reached my pussy, liberally flowing with moisture, he slowly pushed that handle into my cunt. Then he rotated the handle around as well as moved it up and down. Well, it certainly didn't take much of that before I gushed with an orgasm. Dan withdrew the shoe horn just before another customer appeared and sat down a short way down the row of seats. The other male clerk stepped out and went over to wait on the new customer. But he managed a leering smirk at us in the process. He must have been watching the whole time. I confirmed this when I saw the boner he had almost, but not quite, hidden in the front of his pants. I had both shoes on and they fit perfectly as I rose and walked a short ways and back. Dan then said, "I'm as stiff as Cleopatra's obelisk and I need some relief. Let's step in back a moment." He led me into the back stockroom area and a secluded corner. He wasted no time lifting my skirt, flipping out his cock, and, with my back up against the wall, plunging into my cunt balls deep in one hard thrust. Yeah, he was aroused all right! I put my legs around his waist and we humped away with gusto. Dan's cock was not huge, but he knew how to use it and use it well, that's for sure. He was aroused enough that it only took him half a dozed thrusts or so before he shot a huge load of cock cream into my cunt. We both stood in place panting with the short but forceful exertion. Salesman, Jose suddenly appeared beside the two of us standing there still coupled. He said, "I told that little old lady that we didn't have the kind of shoes she wanted and she left. Now I want a piece of this action." Dan backed out of me with a sucking, gooey sound as my feet dropped to the floor. I said to Jose, "I'd be happy to oblige you, but I don't want to get this dress messed up on the floor, we fuck the same way Dan and I just did, here, up against the wall. Jose didn't need time to consider. He dropped his pants and briefs and unleashed a fat, longish cock. Since he new what we had been up to ever since I came into the shoe department and he had witnessed our little game with shoe horn out front, Jose was also well aroused and dribbling precum. His circumcised cock bounced and twitched as he walked up to me. Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Tulsa Jose lifted my dress up around my waist and then walked his big dick up and down my slit, slicking it up good in all the mixed sex fluids smearing my pussy. He played with his cockhead on my clit long enough to really get me aroused again. He centered his cock over my cunt hole as he slipped it down my slit and slowly sank in deeper and deeper. He penetrated my opening and continued to impale me deeper, ever deeper on his flesh pole. He managed to penetrate full length into me and then stopped, holding position. I could feel his cock pulse and throb harder until it then exploded, releasing squirt after squirt of warm cock cream after only that first, slow, deep thrust. Amazingly, I orgasmed with him, with vigor. Jose backed out and I immediately dropped to my knees and sucked him clean. Jose pointed me in the direction of the rest rooms after I wished both guys well and Ciao. I picked up and paid for a pair of shear, black, thigh highs on the way. In the rest room, I cleaned myself up, as best I could, rolled on the stockings, touched up my make up, and combed my hair. I just had time for a quick arop r my= motel room before driving back to the frat house for the buffet and party. Though I could still smell the aroma of the sex just concluded, a real shower clean up would have to wait. When I turned in at the frat house and drove up to the front porch, I saw that Bob must have been watching for me. He ambled down to the passenger side of the car and said, "Let me show you where to park." It wasn't far and, as we walked back from the side parking lot, I commented on the lavish outside decorations with an obvious Hawaiian theme. Bob said, "It is our annual, Hawaiian Luau, our end of the term blowout. It is one of the larger and more lavish parties on campus at the end of the second semester. You'd be amazed at how many dump truck loads of sand it took to make that beach on the front lawn. I think you'll find the food a special treat and really delicious. Bob and I sampled some of that gourmet, Hawaiian food so lavishly laid out on tables. Meat was sliced off a whole pig that was roasted on a spit, poi, breadfruit, fresh pineapple and so many other exotic foods were artfully prepared by the professional chef who was the full time cook for the house. Booze from the bar inside in a receiving room also flowed freely. I was on my way to getting up with a good alcoholic buzz when Bob took me out into the now starlit sky and we danced to the dreamy Hawaiian music played by a group on the verandah. Frat brothers of Bob kept cutting in on us, constantly. As each one did so, he made sure that I felt his big boner itching to break free. I ground my pussy back into them as a signal that I was pleased with the offering. Word must be getting around and I could smell the aroma of sex emanating from me thanks to my store encounters and new sexual excitement. They were the kind of aromas that a simple bathroom wipe couldn't fully clean up. Finally, Bob led me back inside, grabbed two more drinks, and led me up the stairs to a momentarily empty bedroom. It didn't take him long to strip me of my few clothes and get me flat on my back in the bed. "I've waited long enough for this, Jen. I'm going to fuck your brains out." "Have at it, Bobby, I'm all yours for the taking." Quickly stripping as we talked, Bob jumped me on the bed and dived head first into my pussy. He immediately unleashed his tongue and laved away. I was writhing in lustful agony when Bob moved up and quickly slid his huge piece of man meat all the way in to his balls, stretching and filling my pussy. I was just getting into the swing of his fucking when another voice growled, "Roll her over, Bob!" We rolled over, placing me on top. New Voice was already stripped and joined us on the bed by kneeling behind me and wiping his huge dick up and down my crack, lubing it. He then placed his cock head at the entrance to my brown hole and pushed. To his credit, he did go in slowly, giving me time to adjust and slowly take his full length into my back channel. A third naked stud then joined us on the bed, kneeling at my head and offering another large flesh pole to my mouth I eagerly accepted the offering and sucked on it like a popsicle. Two more naked frat boys then stepped up to either side of the bed and made their cock offerings to my idle hands. Those idle hands got real busy, real quick, jacking off those two new dicks. My boobs, those swinging 38s, felt like they had a dozen hands playing on them. My nipples were stiffly erect, my pussy was on fire, my hips and butt were in melt down mode, meeting thrusts, forward and backward. My body was shooting electricity from pussy to tits, back and forth until I exploded in a cataclysmic orgasm. One by one, the frat boy studs likewise shot off their loads of cum into and onto me until we were all one hell of a sticky, gooey mess of love fluids. One by one, as they shot their load and savored the moment for a bit, the boys withdrew until I lay there alone on the bed. But, it wasn't over yet! One by one, quite a number more frat members filed in naked, and mounted me to have a rollicking time fucking my pussy and/or my mouth with an occasional butt fuck or another DP to break the monotony. I think they probably had to burn that mattress the next day. The last guy in line was pretty young and must have become too horny, watching the guys ahead of him, because, just as he climbed onto the bed and straddled me, he shot his wad prematurely, all over my belly and pussy. It was a terrifically huge load, but he just couldn't hold it long enough to get his dick into my pussy. He immediately climbed off, red faced with frustration and embarrassment. The fact that I'd become the party whore in no way diminished my enjoyment of all that man meat--the more the merrier! And I thought St. Louis was a tough series of sex acts that required some rest and recuperation. God, that pales to insignificance after the experiences I've had in Tulsa. By the time I drove back to my motel at dawn, I was already sore as hell, so sore and numb that I knew I would need the next twenty four hours or more to shower, soak, and sleep in order to be fit enough to hit Route 66 again, looking for more kicks on my way to Santa Monica. On to Texas. Yahoo! Go, Swifty, go! Finis ***** (Please? Whether you liked or disliked this story, constructive feedback and votes are appreciated and are strong encouragements for an author to keep producing.)