5 comments/ 27464 views/ 3 favorites By the Time I Got to Woodstock By: furryfan The story involves the adventures of a young man during the summer of 1971. What started out as a road trip by two friends to celebrate being liberated from high school, ended up to be a solo journey by Peter Alland. It was a journey that didn't take him very far in distance at all, but ended up expanding his horizons in many other ways. There are three main characters, two males and one female. Please take note of the category of the story. ..... Chapter One: I knew it. "You should come back home with me," Kenny said as he lingered for what seemed like forever around the open door of the bus, while the other passengers boarded the Greyhound bus bound for Albany, New York. Albany was home, or as close to home as public transportation would permit from here in Rutland, Vermont. "No," I said, biting my tongue and hoping that he would get on the frigging bus before I told him what I really thought about him. "You run home. I'm going to keep going." "We could try this again next year," Kenny said, posing with his foot on the bottom step of the bus while the exhaust fumes filled the air around us. "We could plan better next time." "See ya," I said, waving at him while the bus driver revved the engine, and with that Kenny hopped up the stairs while I turned and headed away. I knew if I turned around Kenny would be there waving at me, but that was so melodramatic that I couldn't take it. Besides, I was so pissed off at him that I didn't want to look at him at that moment, nor at any moment in the foreseeable future either. I was pissed at myself too, because I knew - absolutely KNEW that this was the way it was going to happen, even before we set off on this adventure, yet I let myself me fooled into thinking that this time it would be different. Maybe Kenny wouldn't back out, or end up making up some lame-ass excuse about why he couldn't go, like he had done with every other plan or scheme we had cooked up over the years. "Just like Easy Rider!" Kenny insisted when we hatched this grand idea months before graduation. "We're going to go looking for America like Fonda and Hopper." I went along, not even reminding Kenny that while it might have been fun for Peter and Dennis in the beginning, it really didn't end up all that well for them. In the end, I knew Kenny would chicken out, so what difference did it make? So we decided that right after we graduated high school, we would spend the summer traveling around the country with little more than the clothes on our backs and backpacks filled with the odd necessities. Funny thing was that Kenny didn't back out like I thought he would, and the closer we got to doing it, the more fired up I got about it. It was a great idea. College was still a couple of months away, and what better way to spend our last summer before the real world closed in around us? Where would we go? That would be the beauty of this grand plan. We would let fate decide the direction, and simply let chance dictate where we ended up. I was hoping for West and Kenny was pulling for South, but any place besides the Capital District of New York State was fine by us. What was out there? Girls, and lots of them. Sure, there were girls around us at home, but we knew them and unfortunately, at least in my case, they knew me too. Out there, we would be new people with new identities. They wouldn't know how lame we were, or at least how hopeless I was. Music? Surely there had to be a bunch of free concerts all over the place. They had them in San Francisco all the time, and while there was no way we would make it across the country and back in 2 months, we were sure that we would find a lot of places just as cool as that even if we never got west of the Mississippi. So it was on that pleasant morning in late June 1971 that we stood just up the ramp from the tollbooths of the New York State Thruway Exit 24, with backpacks as full as our hopes and Kenny with his cardboard sign that read simply AMERICA. "Cool people will get it," Kenny insisted when I questioned whether people would think that two long haired kids holding a sign like that might be a little weird. Two hours later, I was looking like a prophet. Thousands of motorists passed us, and while many were amused and a few flashed us the bird, apparently none of them were cool. The State Police weren't cool either, but at least they didn't arrest us, but simply made us pretend to stop hitchhiking until they left to write tickets to people who could afford to pay them. Spirits were sinking fast when a miracle happened. Some old guy in a beat-up pickup truck pulled over, and before he could change his mind, we jumped in the passenger side of the cab. "Where the hell you boys going?" the old coot said as he eyeballed us. "Same direction you are sir," Kenny said. "Your sign says America," he snorted. "This is America. Where the hell you from?" "Uh, Canada," I said fast in what I thought might be a bit of a French accent, before Kenny had a chance to tell him that we were from about 3 miles east of here. "We are sightseeing in your country and we love America very much and want to see it all." "Best damn country in the world!" he said proudly, and headed down towards the toll booths. "Guess you fellas are headed east then, but I ain't going far. Just over the Massachusetts border." "That's great!" I said, and although east wasn't even in my top three of preferred directions, anything was better than standing on the shoulder of the road all day. ** Chapter Two: That was then. That was a week ago. Seven days of waiting for rides that never materialized and six and a half days of listening to my friend Kenny whine. I loved the guy, but he has a knack of getting on my nerves when things aren't going well. Frankly, if he hadn't been complaining, I probably would have been doing a lot of it myself. Instead, I tried to be the upbeat one; the guy who was going to take the lemons we had been dealt and make lemonade with them. That was the role I assumed for the bulk of our seven day journey together. And what a journey it was! We probably traveled about 500 miles in that week, making a bizarre serpentine trip throughout Massachusetts and Vermont. Beautiful country to be sure, but we wanted to see the whole country, and instead we just got a series of little rides that meandered all over the map. We were so happy to get picked up by people that we gladly accepted any ride we could, no matter where the person was headed, figuring it had to be better than standing still. Usually, that wasn't the case, so when Kenny declared that he was finished and wanted to go home, I couldn't really blame him all that much despite using his decision as an excuse to vent my frustration at him. In a week we managed to make it to Rutland, Vermont, which was barely 100 miles from our initial departure point. We hadn't slept in a bed since the first night on the road, when we spent money we couldn't afford on a cheap motel room in Lee, Massachusetts just because it sprinkled a little. Now Kenny was on the bus going home, and I was going onward, determined not to give up. I was going to have a great time and never let him live down the fact that he had deserted me and missed out on it all, so as the bus went one way, I went the other. It was 7 in the morning, and I was determined to have a summer that I would never forget as well as one that Kenny would spend his life regretting having missed out on, so with a bounce in my step I hit the road again, thumb out and hopes high. By two in the afternoon my thumb was still out but my high hopes had disappeared somewhere back on the road. The humidity was oppressive and the sun was relentless, making the road surface feel mushy in some places. The sweat poured down my face, burning my eyes much like the asphalt was scorching my feet, and the heat was rising up in waves from the roadway as I began to stagger a bit from the effects of everything hitting me at the same time. What I wouldn't give for a little rain shower. *** Chapter Three: Welcome to Woodstock. Woodstock, Vermont, that is. That was what the sign I passed earlier had said, but that was a while ago, back when there was light enough to see. Then again, it was now raining so hard that even if it was daylight, visibility would still have been nil. It wasn't just raining either, it was raining sideways. Thunder was rolling and lightning was cracking and I was walking with my thumb out for some reason. "I asked for this fucking rain!" I cackled to the trees that lined the roadway, not caring that to any prospective rides going by, I looked like a raving lunatic. "What a freaking idiot I am!" Who in their right mind would pick up a drowned rat like me on a night like this, even if they could have seen me in the dark? I didn't even know there WAS a Woodstock, Vermont, for crying out loud! Why couldn't I be in the real Woodstock? It probably wasn't raining there. Everybody was sitting around playing flutes and making love there, while I was walking through a monsoon in hell with soggy shoes and musty underwear that I had been wearing so long they felt fused to my nuts. Those was the sort of things I was saying aloud as I walked down Route 4 in the rain. Saying it? I was screaming it. I was cursing out everybody from Kenny to the entire state of Vermont. What difference did it make? Nobody could hear me. I was alone in a howling storm straight out of a horror movie. So when I saw the faint sign of a diner down the road, I started jogging toward it. Just the thought of a cup of coffee sped me up, and even though I was embarrassed by what I looked like, I didn't care. My dripping entrance was not greeted by much enthusiasm by the waitress, but thankfully there weren't many other people there to be offended by my look or odor, both of which were a testimony to what happens as a result of seven days on the road. I set a couple of soggy ones on the counter and ordered a cup of coffee and a donut from the skeptical hostess, and after wolfing them both down, ordered a refill and headed to the bathroom. The sight that greeted me in there took me by surprise. The guy in the mirror looked like shit. I had the appearance of a deranged escapee from a mental hospital; hair every which way and looking like somebody who belonged in a straight jacket. Hell, after seven days I almost looked like I needed to shave! No wonder everybody gave me a wide berth when they saw me. I was beyond grubby looking. I got myself together as best I could, combing my hair and washing my face and hands, so when I looked back into the mirror I wasn't quite as revolting as I was before. Still, what difference did that make? I was stranded in the middle of nowhere. Tears started pouring out of my eyes as I realized I had hit rock bottom. This Summer of Love was an unmitigated disaster. I knew what I was going to do. Survive the night somehow and go back to Rutland and catch the bus back home. Even crawling back home with my tail between my legs was better than this. Nothing could be worse than taking a sink bath in a diner out in the middle of nowhere. Then I left the men's room and went back into the dining area. *** Chapter Four: Peter! Business in the diner had picked up since I had gone into the bathroom, that much was obvious. Two policemen were in the diner, chatting with the waitress who tried to nod in my direction without making it obvious, failing miserably in the process. The two cops were standing around my seat, where my donut and coffee sat waiting for my return. I nodded to everybody and slid into my seat, hoping to at least finish my donut before I got hassled, but that wasn't to be. Identification was asked for, and I fished out my license from a soggy wallet, and handed it over to the taller cop while the one that was about my height gave me the once over. "What brings you here, Peter?" tall cop asked. "My feet," I said, gesturing to my wet attire, and mentally kicked myself for being unable to resist being a wise-ass. "Just making my way to Rutland. Gonna catch the bus back home." "You got money for the bus?" the shorter cop wanted to know. "You don't look too prosperous." "Well, I already paid for my food," I said, giving a look to the waitress who nodded curtly, and then started fishing money out of all of the nooks and crannies I had tucked cash away in. Piling the little pile of loot on the counter, I took off my boot and pulled out the twenty that was tucked into my sock, making a grand total of $44.91. "The bus fare is $4.55," I told them, remembering how much Kenny had paid for his ticket. "So I guess I have more than enough." The cops looked at me up and down again, thanked me for my cooperation without even a hint of sincerity, and went out the door. I set down my false front of braveness and slumped back into my seat. What I had to be happy about, I didn't know. I was still miles from nowhere, but at least I wasn't going to jail. "Sorry I stunk up your diner," I told the waitress, who wouldn't look me in the eye. "I don't know what I did to deserve having you sic the police on me, but you have a good evening anyway." Leaving too generous a tip, I walked out of the diner and back into the night, which had gotten cooler. The torrential rain had let up to just a steady drizzle, but now I was faced with a dilemma. Where to spend the night? It was only around 9 in the evening, which meant I had another 10 hours or so to kill, not to mention who knows how many miles to walk. "Over here," a female voice called out, and at the end of the parking lot I saw a VW van that was some sickly faded shade of orange. I went over to the idling van, where a woman was behind the wheel with a man riding shotgun. They had been in a booth inside the diner when my little drama went down, and when I got to the woman's side I saw the embers of a cigarette light up the guy's face, although the aroma coming from inside the van left no doubt as to what was being smoked. "You look like you could use a friend," the woman said. "Get in the back." I hesitated for a second, not knowing what this was all about. "If you're really going to Rutland, we'll take you, but I don't think you want to walk," the woman said. "Okay, thanks," I said, climbing into the back. "Get down low for a little way," the man said as the woman drove down the road. "Yeah! I knew it. There they are!" Peeking out of the curtained window, I saw the police car hidden around the curve about a 1/4 mile from the diner. "Andy and Barney!" the woman said as we drove past them. "You can get up now." "What was that?" I asked. "What were they going to do?" "Probably nothing," the man said, handing me the joint he had been smoking. "Likely they were just going to make sure you left, although more than one kid has gotten a lesson in rural justice around here. This area is cooler than most, but it isn't ever a good idea to be a wise guy when you're a long hair in a strange place." "I realized that after I opened my mouth," I said, inhaling deeply and passing it back up front. "Been having a bad day." "I'm Roger," the man said before nodding at the driver. "The lovely lady here is my old lady Grace." "Nice to meet you. I'm Peter." "Were you really going to Rutland?" grace asked. "I guess so," I said. "Not too smart for me to stick around here." "That depends," Roger said. "You want to crash with us for the night?" The decision was a no-brainer, so when I eagerly accepted, Grace made a hard left, sending me skidding across the back seat while they cackled loudly. "Hang on Peter," Roger quipped. "Grace likes company, and we haven't had any in a while." **** Chapter Five: Welcome to Big (not Quite) Pink. After a 45 second journey on the bumpiest road on the planet, Grace made another quick turn and careened up a long narrow driveway before slamming on the brakes and killing the engine. "Home sweet home Peter!" Roger announced, and we all piled out of the van into the drizzle and darkness, having arrived at their place. "Welcome to Big Not Quite Pink," Grace declared as we went up the steps of a rickety porch, and I got the reference to the place where The Band recorded their first album. "Looks like heaven to me," I told them, and when you've been sleeping under trees and beneath overpasses for awhile, even a rather dilapidated beige house with a bunch of junk on the porch looks pretty good. Inside the house, the place was cluttered but clean, and after I followed them into the kitchen, I got my first real good look at my benefactors. Roger had the look of a college professor, or what I imagined them all to look like. A bit taller than my 5'9", he was probably in his 50's, although I was never good at guessing ages. He had wire-rimmed glasses, curly brown hair streaked with grey that was the same shoulder length as mine, along with a moustache and goatee that gave him a distinguished look even in this rather primitive setting. The first thing Roger did was to go over to the stereo and put the needle on an album, and although they had a bunch of LP's, the one that was on the turntable was one that would play almost non-stop. Although I had never paid much attention to the Grateful Dead before, I got to memorize the endlessly playing album Workingman's Dead, which only left the turntable when Anthem of the Sun took its place. Roger's wife Grace seemed a little younger than him, and had incredibly long reddish brown hair that flowed halfway down her back. She wore a shapeless granny dress that hid most of her from neck to ankles, but she seemed to have a nice enough body from what I could tell, and whenever she moved she seemed to float around with the rhythm of the music. "I really appreciate this," I told them as Roger fired up yet another joint and passed it to me. My head was already spinning before this, because while I was not a stranger to weed, it wasn't something I did very often. Smoking on the way to the house, combined with my overwhelming fatigue, was making me slap-happy as well as a bit emotional, and when I started telling them about how I had ended up here, I found myself tearing up. "Sounds like a cool idea," Roger said generously of my ill-fated journey. "Someday you'll look back on this and be glad you made the effort." "Peter sounds tired and stoned," Grace said, putting her arm around my shoulder. "Betcha you would love a nice bath and a soft bed." "Yeah," I agreed. "I'm kinda nasty." "Follow me," Grace said, and as she walked me down the hall to the bathroom, I followed close behind, enthralled with the way her long hair flowed as she moved. The bathroom was a bit different than the ones I was used to, in that it didn't have a door, which I found odd, and the aged porcelain fixtures were so dated that looked like they should be in a museum or something. No shower, which I would have loved, but instead a big white tub with long metal legs. At least there was running water, I noted while watching Grace spin the knobs until the temperature got right, and after she got the water flowing she turned to me. "Let's get this stuff off of you," Grace said as she calmly reached down and grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt. "The stuff in your bag is probably dirty too, right?" "Uh - yeah," I said, so shocked that Grace was undressing me that it took me a second to figure out that I should raise my arms to help her her get my shirt off. "Well, we've got a clothes washer, so we'll get your stuff all clean for you," Grace said, steadying me as I started to lose my balance. "You okay, baby? Never smoked before?" "No, that's not it," I replied. "It's just that I'm tired and all." By the Time I Got to Woodstock Actually, while I was tired and had a buzz, the reason I had lost my balance was that after Grace had taken my shirt off, she had run her hands down my chest and stomach in a very gentle way before undoing my belt. "Lean on me, Peter," Grace said as she knelt to slide my jeans down and off of me, folding the muddy denim as best she could before setting it on the hamper. "How old are you baby?" Grace said, shrugging her hair back over her shoulder while I stood there naked except for my not-so-white underwear and socks. "18," I squeaked, aware that there was now a little bulge getting bigger in my underwear. "Really?" Grace said, also noticing the bulge. "You don't look it, man. That's not a put down or anything, man. It's just that you look a lot younger than that to me now than you did before. I'll bet once we get you cleaned up you'll be a cute little kid." "I know," I said, realizing that the combination of my baby-face and skinny, almost hairless body gave every indication that I wasn't old enough to drink or vote. "You are cute, you know that?" Grace opined, yanking down my underwear, and as my boner sprang wildly all over the place, my humiliation was complete. "Not polite to point," Grace said, tapping the head of my erection and causing it to bounce around like a diving board, and she leaned away from it to take off my socks she added, "But your pointer is cute too." At least she didn't laugh, I thought to myself as I fought the urge to use my hands, or hand, to cover my little pecker. Cute wasn't a very manly term for a guy's dick, but there could (and had been) more crushing descriptors of the 5 inches or so of fully engorged penis I had been blessed with, so I took it with good humor. After all, she had just touched my dick, which put her in rare company. "Now let's get you in there, you grubby little dude," Grace said, helping me step into the tub and assisting me as I slid down into the water. The water was a bit warmer than I would have liked, but it felt so good that I let myself sink down until it was up to my neck. I was just about ready to tell Grace that and thank her for it when I realized that she hadn't turned to leave but was in the process of unzipping her dress and peeling it off. ..... Chapter Six: Mr. Bubble. Grace nonchalantly came over to the side of the bathtub with a bottle of Johnson's Baby Shampoo and a box of Mr. Bubble, a combination that would have sent me into fits of laughter if I hadn't been distracted by the sight of what seemed to me to be a goddess. Grace wasn't naked, but the combination of the skimpy pink panties and the wife-beater T-shirt that had been tie-dyed a bright green and yellow made her look even more erotic than if she had nothing on at all. The woman underneath that granny dress was voluptuous; with lush breasts that hung low and wiggled freely in the baggy top she had on, and the pink panties she wore were incapable of containing what looked like a jungle of crimson hued hair that peeked out the drooping elastic sides of the tattered undies. "You okay, Peter?" Grace said with a look of amusement on her face, her big brown eyes twinkling as she smiled, seemingly unaware that she was the most lovely creature on the planet. "Even though you look stoned you still seem tense." My hands were clutching the sides of the tub so hard that my fingers were a chalky white, and I imagine that the way I was staring at her with an open-mouth and bulging eyes might have indicated that I was really out of it, but I denied it. "No, I'm okay," I said, my voice quivering. "Then relax," Grace said, and squeezed a wet sponge down my back, causing me to shiver. "You're so beautiful," I blurted out for some reason, having reached a mental state where my thoughts became words, and Grace seemed touched by my declaration. "You're so sweet," Grace said, biting her lip as she sponged my back. "Especially since I'm probably old enough to be your mother." "My mom doesn't look anything like you," I informed her while my erection throbbed underwater. "Well, Peter," Grace said. "I think we have to start this bath over again. You must have been wearing a lot of the state of Vermont on you." The water I was sitting in had turned a murky brown, a testimony to how filthy I had become in the last week, and I felt my face flush when I realized how disgusting I must have been. "I'm not usually like this, I swear" I told Grace as she reached down and pulled the plug on the tub, and I was just about to explain that I took a shower every day usually when she brushed it off. "It's cool," Grace said matter-of-factly as the water began to drain, and as I sat there watching the water level sink around me, Grace hooked up a rubber shower head to the faucet and asked me to stand up. The water was almost gone from the tub, and soon only the dirt along the sides of the tub remained, along with the thick film of soapy crud that latched onto me as the water had drained away. Grace turned on the water again and rinsed the walls of the tub, leaning over as she did, and that movement opened up the armhole of the shirt. I could see almost her entire left breast through the gaping opening; the biggest and most beautiful breast I had ever seen, I noted as I watched it swing down in front of her, and when she reached over I could see she had hair under her arms as well. All of this did nothing to my erection, which was twitching with excitement. The thought of what I would do if her husband came in the open door crossed my mind, but I was too aroused to care, and frankly Grace didn't seem to give it a thought. "You're still tense," Grace said as she turned the sprayer on me, rinsing the sludge off of me that had formed from the neck down. I was afraid that when she sprayed the water on my crotch, I would cum all over the place, but I didn't, at least at first. Soon I realized that Grace was spending a whole lot of time rinsing that area, and when she finally turned the hose off and began filling the tub again, the prospect of that happening had become quite possible. "His name is Mr. Bubble," Grace said in a jolly voice as she sprinkled some of the flakes under the running water while singing that dopey jingle. "And you can watch me pop!" I sang as I harmonized with Grace, and she seemed pleased at my joining in, even though I felt dumb. "Haven't had a bubble bath in - ever," I admitted, having thought it kid stuff. "Bubbles are far-out," Grace said as I stared at her, imagining that the freckles that covered her arms formed constellations of sorts. "Aren't they?" "I guess," I said as I stood and watched the bubbles rise with the water level, and then blurted out, "I really like your freckles." "Maybe later you can count them for me," Grace suggested, and I reached over and wiped some of the bubbles off of her forearm. "Bubble baths are supposed to be relaxing too, or at least they're supposed to be" Grace said, giving my boner a look as she shook her head. "You'll never enjoy your bath with all that tension inside you." After saying that, Grace calmly knelt by the tub again and had me stand up, taking my wet buttocks in her hands, drawing me closer as she leaned forward. As I looked down in disbelief, Grace's mouth opened and her lips slowly slid down the length of my dick. By the time her mouth got down to the base of my cock, I had already started to cum, setting a record for the fastest ejaculation on record. I tried to cry out and warn her, but there isn't a lot one can do in that short a time. Grace didn't seem to want or need a warning, as she simply kept her lips tight around the base of my dick while her tongue did things I had no concept off, and I kept spurting jet after jet of my seed down her willing throat until I went limp in her mouth. "There!" Grace said happily, testing the water temperature before easing me back down into the bubbles. "Now you can enjoy the bath." "That - that was amazing," I stammered finally. "It's supposed to be, silly," Grace said as she turned the hose on again to get my hair wet. "I liked it too. Your cum tastes really good."" "What about your husband?" I asked. "Roger? We aren't married, but we have been together for almost 20 years." "But what about him? About what you just did?" "Oh, he gets plenty too," Grace said while pouring some shampoo in her palm. "Don't worry about him. He's a groovy guy." I would have continued to try and find out the answer to what that meant, but the sight of Grace reaching up to lather my scalp made me lose my train of thought, so I just swiveled to face her as best I could and enjoyed the view. With Grace's arms upraised, the hair that I had gotten a peek at earlier was now in full view, and although their were a few girls back home who didn't shave their underarms, they were nothing like Grace, whose armpits were overflowing with the most lush looking burnt orange colored hair I had ever seen. As my senses became clearer after the cloud of body odor I had been saddled with for a week dissipated, the familiar scent of patchouli filled my nostrils, and I found myself drifting away into a weird place, aided by what was a quite weird series of experiences I had lived through over the last couple of hours. Strangest of all was this bathing experience, which continued to amaze me. Here was this woman, who was more than twice my age, giving me a bath. It was almost like I was her kid and she was my mother when you considered many of the things she had been doing, but I wasn't a kid, I was 18. Nothing else made sense either, at least in my world. Grace, who was a total stranger an hour ago, had just sucked my dick. Not for long, but that was my fault. The fact was that Grace had put my dick in her mouth and swallowed my cum to boot, and with her old man right there in the house! That must be it, I figured. This Roger guy probably couldn't get it up anymore, or she was so horny that he couldn't satisfy her, so he let her pick up guys that could. If that was the case, I told myself, then I was just the man to take care of her. Heady thoughts, especially from a kid who had never done "it" with a girl, and had only convinced a grand total of two girls in the world to even put their mouth on his cock until a minute ago. Grace was beautiful. That was all I cared about. I didn't care if she was 35, or 45, or even 55. Look at those tits! The way they hung down - so full and low, with the outline of her big nipples clear as day through the skimpy t-shirt. "All done!" Grace announced, breaking me out of my trance that had me staring at the hair under her arms, and after she helped me up and kept hosing me down to rinse the soap scum off of me while the water drained from the tub, assisted me in climbing out of the tub so she could dry me off. "Still tense I see, Peter," Grace noted as she dried my hair, nodding downward as my dick pointed at her once more. "Sorry. Can't help it," I said, which was a bit of a lie. I wasn't sorry - not in the least. Everything about Grace excited me; her crooked little smile, the way she smelled so sweet, and the way those bell-shaped jugs swayed around under that top as she moved was driving me wild. What I wanted more than anything was for her to wrap those lips of hers around my dick again. I wanted her to take me to a secluded place somewhere in this house and let me satisfy her the way her old man apparently could not. It was going to happen. Grace was kneeling down in front of me yet again, rubbing the towel briskly over my erection, which was flying around in every direction right in front of her face. She seemed poised to lean forward and swallow me up once again when something interrupted her. Roger. "How's Grace treating you, my man?" Roger had appeared in the open doorway at some point over the last few minutes. He wasn't mad, but calmly waltzed into the bathroom with us. He was smiling, and he was naked. At that moment, I realized that everything I knew, or thought I knew, was wrong. *** Chapter Seven: Roger and me. Roger may not have been Grace's husband, but that didn't stop me from feeling guilty, as my once throbbing erection promptly withered away upon his entrance. "Peter's really tense," Grace informed Roger. "At least he was." "It's cool. Everything' is cool baby," Grace told me just before she moved her mouth over my limp dick. Roger watched with the approving eye of a professor observing his students performing an experiment, but his arrival had left me completely inhibited. Him being there wasn't even the most intimidating thing, because that honor belonged to the thick uncircumcised cock that dangled down between his legs. The thing was huge, at least compared to my own. Cocoa brown in hue, Roger's cock was bigger limp than mine was hard; larger in both length and thickness, and his not being circumcised made it look even more ominous. Roger nonchalantly moved next to me on the bath mat and put his arm around my shoulders, drawing us close together. The prickly hairs that covered his body felt weird against my smooth skin, and I tried not to recoil against the contact while Roger tried to position himself so that Grace could service him as well. "How about some for me too?" Roger suggested, wiggling his rubbery hose near Grace's cheek. "Wait your turn," Grace said, taking my dick out of her mouth long enough to chide him before resuming her efforts. "Guess I'll just watch then," Roger said, giving my shoulders a rub with his left hand while tugging on his cock with his right. "Grace gives great head, doesn't she Peter?" Roger asked. I nodded, grunting an affirmative answer, but my eyes were captivated my the sight of Roger pulling on his cock, stretching out the dusky hose like it was made of elastic. The tip of his dick was peeking out of the jagged edge of the foreskin, and as he started to get hard he peeled the hood down, exposing the pinkish cone beneath. Grace looked up at me and smiled, letting her tongue dance on the opening of my cock, which had become erect once again. Was it from watching Roger play with himself? Before I could think about the ramifications of that, Roger started directing us. "Here babe, work Peter's nuts for him," Roger said while reaching over and taking my dick out of her hand. I looked over at Roger in shock, not believing that he was actually holding my dick, and that I was letting him, but there was no doubt that it was happening. Roger's fingers held my cock, pulling it straight up while Grace's mouth began sucking on my balls one at a time. As she chewed on my nuts, Roger's fingers rubbed the underside of the head of my dick, causing a pearl of pre-cum to appear at the opening. He spread the goo all over the tip of my dick while his cock waved ominously next to my hip. Was I supposed to touch him? Not at all sure what the protocol was about things like this, I kept my hands at my sides, fists clenched from nerves and excitement. I mean, the guy was letting his wife, or whatever she was, suck my cock - again, and I wasn't stooping the man from holding my dick. Maybe I felt I owed them this because they had saved my ass back there at the diner. Did I want to touch his cock? Not really. It wasn't like I had never done touched another guy's before before. Kenny and I had jerked each other off once years ago, but that was different, or at least that was the way I was thinking. If the thing wasn't so damn big, I thought to myself, maybe I would feel differently about it. Roger's cock had to be 7 or 8 inches long, and while Kenny's was bigger than mine as well, the difference wasn't nearly as great as this. It was almost like we were of different species or something. Just then Grace swiveled around so that she was kneeling right between the two of us. Grabbing her husband's cock while hanging on to mine, she pulled them both to her face and began licking the both of us. Our cocks were pressed against each other's while her tongue swabbed them both, and the friction of the two dick heads rubbing together was electric. I'm gay. I didn't say it, but I was thinking it while this went on. Why else would my dick be tingling like it was? Now Grace's mouth was opening wide and taking both of our crowns inside of her warmth, and her hands were pumping the shafts of our dicks while the heads were squished together. "Why don't we get to bed?" Roger suggested, and Grace got up to her feet and dragged us by the dicks out of the bathroom and down the hall. *** Chapter Eight: Three. Grace's ass was full but firm, and it was a welcome distraction to the clumsiness of bouncing off the hall walls as we made the brief journey into what had to be the master bedroom. The spacious room was lit up by what had to be dozens of candles, and the walls were covered by posters of all kinds, from Jimi Hendrix to peace symbols. The bed was a massive shrine in the middle of the room, and as we tumbled into it, I discovered it was a water bed. As I rolled around trying to get my bearings in the first water-bed I had ever experienced, Grace was peeling down her panties and kicking them off. I was on my back and Grace was straddling me while the room spun around me. Her hands were pulling her tank top over her head, exposing those big beautiful breasts to my eyes for the first time. Grace's bell-shaped jugs hung down almost to her waist, and the crimson aureoles we so massive that they covered most of the ends of the full globes. Her nipples were fat stubs that looked like they were begging to be sucked on. "Let me do the honors, man," Roger was saying to us, but I was hypnotized by the sight of Grace doing a kind of dance on top of me, her hands running through her long reddish-brown hair as she writhed to music that I couldn't hear. Then a hand was on my cock - Roger's hand - but I didn't care at that point. I felt him putting my dick through Grace's thick bush and into her moist opening. As I slid into her and felt myself become enveloped by her moistness, I remember thinking that there should have been a fanfare, with my waiting 18 years for this to happen and all. No fanfare, just the amazing feeling of Grace's pussy muscles gripping my dick as she began moving up and down. I reached up and grabbed her breasts, and the size of them made them tough to control, but I did my best to massage the spongy teats as they rolled around above me. The wild swirls of burnt orange colored hair under her arms seemed to be florescent in the candlelight, and I forced myself to look away for fear I would cum from the sight of it all. Roger was kneeling beside Grace, kissing her while she rode my dick, and watching that was kind of erotic to me. Soon Roger's hand was kneading her breast, and I moved my hand to let him at it, using both hands to squeeze her other tit. Grace was making noises now, and as her dance became more spastic and louder, I felt the walls of her pussy clamp down on my cock. When this happened I lost any last sense of self-control, my dick spurting my cum into Grace while she jerked around maniacally in Roger's arms. "You came too," Grace said with a smile as she leaned down and kissed me, my spent dick sliding out of her as she moved. "My turn," Roger announced, taking the opportunity to climb behind Grace while she was on all fours, and because Grace's face was right next to mine I got to see her reaction when Roger slipped his cock inside of her. I was pinned under Grace as Roger began thrusting himself into her. Grace's tits were rubbing all over my chest as the bed rolled with every thrust. Above her, I could hear Roger grunting as he drilled himself deep into her, and her face was strained as she tried to keep herself on all fours. By the Time I Got to Woodstock I did my best to help, moving my hands up under Grace's arms to support her, although it was a selfish move on my part. My thumbs stroked the lush tufts of hair as I helped hold her up, and I was struck by how soft the hair felt against my hands. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her there, and tried to figure a way to find out. Seconds later I watched Grace's face contort and heard her crying out while she came, and after a few more wave-making thrusts, Roger cried out as well. Soon, they both came tumbling off of me and we lay in a twisted pile with limbs akimbo and bodily fluids all over the place. ... Chapter Nine: Cute? Me? Having just had more sexual experiences over the space of two hours than I had enjoyed in the 18 years before, I closed my eyes and drifted off into some kind of sleep - dozing but not really knocked out. I felt the bed move and Grace and Roger got off and on a few times, and then my nostrils caught the scent of weed again. Keeping my eyes closed, because I didn't want to get any more wrecked than I was already, I just stayed on my back and listened to them talking. At first the conversation was pretty general, but when the suject became me, my ears perked up even though my eyes stayed closed. "I think we knocked Peter out," I heard Roger say. "Poor little guy's had a rough few days," Grace answered, and as she spoke I felt a hand on my thigh, slowly stroking it. "We should let him rest." I wasn't sure whether I wanted to know whose hand that was on my leg, gently stroking the down on the top of my thigh, so I kept my eyes closed. Besides, not knowing added to the excitement for some reason. There was no question about which of the two of them I was attracted to. Grace was beautiful and voluptuous as well as being very sweet to me. Roger was a guy, and I had never had the slightest interest in other guys. Still, there was something about the guy - he was so generous and giving of his woman - that I wasn't as repulsed as I thought I would have been when he touched me. "I knew you were going to go for him the moment I saw him," Roger said. "He's just so cute," Grace replied. "I think he was a virgin." "Well, if you're going to lose it, might as well lose it to my old lady," Roger responded. "How many times have I said that before?" Now there was a another hand on me in addition to the one stroking my thigh. This hand was up higher, and the fingers were casually raking through the sparse tuft of hair over my dick. "I thought you said we should let him rest," I heard Grace say, and that answered my wondering about the owner of the hand running through my pubic hair. "I have a feeling you think he's cute too." "So shoot me," Roger said, his fingers now at the base of my dick. "I don't think he's bi, babe," Grace said. "He didn't say anything when I touched him before," Roger whispered. "And when our stuff was rubbing together he didn't back away. You know I'd never force myself on anybody." "You're going to wake him up," Grace warned, and I felt the bed ripple as somebody started to move. "If he's sleeping, that is." Suddenly the conversation stopped. The waves of the bed made me feel like I was on the ocean, and while I could have opened my eyes and removed all the mystery, I didn't. Instead, when I felt the warm breath on my dick, I remained still, and kept quiet even when the breath was replaced by a pair of lips, and a mouth enveloped my limp dick. My dick wiggled around in a very wet mouth as a hand started rolling my balls around. The bed rocked some more, and now I felt someone on the other side of me. I was still flaccid, but there was some signs of life down there, even though I had cum a couple of times already. Was that Roger down there? All I had to do was look, but I could not bring myself to do it. Why not? Maybe because I was afraid that it would be Roger down there, sucking on my dick, on the way to getting me hard. And so what if it was, another voice asked me? I was miles from home, with people that didn't know me, and anything that was going on would be my secret. Suddenly, the mouth came off of my semi-turgid dick, and the question about who had been expertly giving me head became irrelevant, because my member was being pointed over to the other side, and a different pair of lips was sliding down all the way into my pubes. I let out a groan despite myself as my dick got passed back and forth between the two of them, and then there were two tongues licking up and down the sides of the shaft - two pairs of lips nibbling on the crown and the same two tongues dueling with each other at the tip. My thighs were being spread apart and the bed began bouncing again. The person on my side was still there, sucking away on my dick, while the other person walked down on their knees toward the other end of the bed, creating massive waves that rocked us all around. I could feel the body heat from the person at my side, and while I could have easily just looked, I couldn't bring myself do do it. Instead, I brought my hand down from the pillow and blindly reached over to touch the person at my hip. After making contact, the guesswork was over, because the thigh that my hand landed on was covered with dense wiry hair. ... Chapter Ten: Now what? I'm not sure if I got a jolt of static electricity from making contact with Roger's thigh, but I did recoil a little bit before letting my hand rest there. Roger let out a groan of his own, and worked his way over until his leg was resting on my side, leaving no doubt as to what he was hoping I would do. His moving made my hand slide along the back of his thigh, and I could feel the heat resonating from above. At this point I peeked out, and saw pretty much what I expected to see, which was Roger from behind; his hairy sac dangling between his thighs and hanging even lower, the long brown hose that was almost touching the bedding. Do it, I told myself. You touched Kenny's, even jerked him off. What was the difference? Well, the differences were rather great. This wasn't two guys pretending they were drunk and getting each other off. This was different. Besides, the cock that was swinging lazily between Roger's legs wasn't anything like Kenny's. This was brown and huge, and the foreskin made it look downright scary. Between my own legs, a mouth that had to be Grace's was sucking on my balls one at a time, and then each taking them both for a second or two before letting them pop out. My dick was now fully erect, and still being sucked on vigorously by Roger. "Ooh - that's it!" Roger moaned, as my hand cupped his balls in my hand. They were like eggs in a big wrinkled and hairy sac, and as I rolled them around in my palm Roger squirmed. I heard him say something to Grace, but I couldn't make out what it was. Now my hand was coming off of his balls, and it seemed like it was moving independently, because it couldn't be me telling it to move forward and take hold of that cock. Not me. But there it was, my pale white hand clutching Roger's fat, rubbery tube about halfway down. I could barely get my fingers around the girth of it, and it felt like nothing I had even felt before. Certainly nothing like my own or even Kenny's. The skin moved freely as I gave it a couple of tentative pulls, and when I moved my hand the other way I saw the tip of the glans peek out. The more pronounced my movements became, the more of his crown was revealed, until the entire plum-sized head was exposed with the wrinkled foreskin pulled back entirely. Not quite so scary looking now with the hood peeled away, but still big, especially from the angle I was at. The base of it looked like the veined roots of a tree, absurdly thick at the trunk and gradually tapering towards the top. The knob was pinkish in color, a sharp contrast form the shaft of the dusky member. Roger was getting hard, and now I was practically milking him like a cow. Thankfully, his cock didn't have the same degree of growth that mine did when it got hard, but there was still no comparison between the two of us, and I wondered why Grace would even look at somebody built like me when she had Roger around. "Awake I see," Grace was saying in my ear, having worked her way up to that end of the bed while I was otherwise occupied. "You want to do him with me like we did you? You don't have to, you know?" ... Chapter Eleven: Doing Roger. His hands were on our necks, softly rubbing and kneading the backs of them as we relined at his sides. In front of me, Grace had Roger's cock in her fist, pumping the shaft slowly while sucking on the upper half. I watched, realizing that this was like a crash course in cock-sucking I was watching. Could I actually do this? I had whispered to Grace that I had never done it when she brought it up, but that wasn't the answer she was looking for. "Do you WANT to?" she asked while watching me milk Roger's over-sized phallus. "If you don't want to, it's cool. Roger won't mind." That was going through my mind when Grace let her mouth slide off of Roger's fully engorged cock, and with her eyes looking at me in a way that left no doubt that it would be my choice alone, she moved the throbbing organ over towards me. Afterward, I confessed to Roger that it was a first for me, even though I'm sure that my performance left no doubt about my lack of experience. "So did you enjoy it?" Roger asked. "I dunno," I said, which might have given away what I really thought about putting his cock in my mouth. "Parts of it were alright, but..." "Look at it this way," Roger said. "I think most every guy, at some time in his life, at least wonders what it would be like to go down on another guy, if only as a fleeting thought for a moment, and one they never act on in real life. The ones that deny that the most might be the ones that want to do it the most." "So now you've done it," Roger continued. "If you never do it again, at least that's one thing you'll never have to wonder about, and you can concentrate on things that are way more important." Roger was right about that. I spent several days with Roger and Grace, taking advantage of their food, weed and overall hospitality. Mostly taking advantage of Grace, I thought, but not only didn't she seem to mind, she was the instigator many of the times. "Grace is a very sexual woman," Roger told me at one point when she was out of the bedroom. "I never did it before," I confessed. "Until Grace, I mean." "You seem to be learning fast," Roger said with a laugh. "I can't believe you let me do all of this stuff with her," I blurted out, and by then the 'stuff' had grown to encompass virtually everything a man and woman can do with each other. "I mean, if I were you I'd never let anybody near her." "I don't own Grace," Roger said. "She's her own woman. She loves sex. I love Grace and she loves me. So you being here having sex with her, and with us, is perfect. She's getting what she wants with somebody she likes, and I'm here not only making sure that she stays safe, but I'm enjoying watching as well. Watching Grace have orgasms is my favorite pastime, even if I'm not causing them." "Besides," Roger chuckled. "There's no way I could have kept her satisfied the last couple of days like you did. You're a very virile young man. She's really fond of you as well." "She's great," I gushed. "It's just that - I dunno, It's just that it doesn't seem possible that I'm really - you know." "Making her cum like she does?" Roger asked. "Trust me. When she orgasms, it's real. Every time. Grace is multi-orgasmic to the extreme." "I just thought that, you know," I mumbled, pulling at my limp dick and shrugging. "Mine is so small compared to yours, that it doesn't seem like..." "Whoa!" Roger said, cutting me off with a wave of his hand. "That silly stuff just doesn't matter. Oh, there are some women who care about that kind of thing, just like there are guys who only like certain kinds of women, but most women, if they really care about you, don't give a damn about that." "Don't care about what?" Grace asked, bouncing into the room with her breasts swaying wildly. "The size of a guy's penis," Roger said, causing me to flush with embarrassment. "Peter here seems to think it matters." "That's why the world's in the shape it's in. You guys think too frigging much," Grace declared, and promptly swooped down on my dick, putting an end to our conversation. ... Chapter Twelve: Leaving Woodstock. I didn't really want to leave, because I was quite infatuated with Grace, but I didn't want to take advantage of the situation. Besides, my folks might get worried about me if I didn't contact them, and without a phone out here at Not Quite Big Pink, I was without any means of contacting them. Maybe that was the joy of being there. No phones ringing and nothing to do but have sex and get high. I sensed that living like this all the time might not be good for a person, but much like this was a vacation for me, it was also just a summer vacation for Grace and Roger. Soon they would be going back to their real worlds; Roger was a professor and Grace worked in a day care center, and this house was just a diversion for the summer. They were responsible people who were able to go back and forth between their two worlds without skipping a beat. So when I mentioned to them that I thought it would be a good idea to head home, they didn't argue, although they made it clear that if I was leaving because I felt like I was imposing, I should stay because they loved having me around. "We'll take you to Rutland tomorrow morning," Roger said, "but if you change your mind that would be groovy too. We're up here until late August." "Going home? Not continuing your adventure?" Grace asked. "What happened to you searching for America?" "I think I found it," I explained. "The first week was living hell, and then you guys - for no possible reason - took a chance and helped a total stranger. The week I've been with you two - it's been the greatest time of my life." "Well, we've still got you for another night," Grace proclaimed. "So after dinner it's off to bed until morning." That night was one hell of a going away party, the highlight of which was having anal sex with Grace. Added to that was the fact that it happened while she was on top of Roger, who had his cock in her pussy at the same time. Yet another experience that I would probably never have again in my life, thanks to this funky and crazy couple. The next morning at the bus station was tough, and how I could get so emotional over people I had only known for about a week escaped me I couldn't blame it on weed or booze either. I guess I'm just emotional, but Grace got choked up too. They told me to stop by any time I wanted next summer, and I told them that I would. The bus ride was spent reflecting on the week that was, and the main thing that keep coming back to me was what they had said just before as I got on the bus. "I wish I could repay you for everything you've done for me," I had mumbled. "You can," Roger said. "Anything." "If you ever see somebody that looks like they're down and hurting, like you were that night, instead of passing them by, lend them a hand," Roger said. "Really," Grace explained. "It doesn't have to be much. A cup of coffee. A place to stay, or even a smile. You do that, and that more than pays back anything you think you owe us. It feels so good you won't believe it." "I will," I assured them, and I was going to say that this was the America I was hoping to find, with people that actually cared about each other, but instead I make a vow to myself to do what they had suggested. "And if you come back next summer," Roger said. "Bring your friend - the one that backed out on you." "Sure! We'd love to have both of you!" Grace chirped, and got a chuckle and a playful poke from Roger for her double entendre. "Maybe I will," I told them, not adding that if I didn't, Kenny would never believe me. I had been there, and even I couldn't believe all that had gone on. ... Epilogue. I sent Grace and Roger a Christmas card, telling them how college was going and hoped that it would get forwarded to their regular residence in Bennington, Vermont, and I was pleased when I got a response. Roger sent me a nice note, saying how happy they were I was doing well, and wanted to make sure I knew they were counting on me to visit come summer. He mentioned Grace had come down with something but suggested that hearing from me was the cure for whatever was ailing her. I drove out to Woodstock that next July, my trunk full of wine and beer so that I wasn't going to be mooching this time. I passed the diner and soon I was heading down that bumpy road. I had offered to bring my friend Kenny with me but he backed out of course, but that was okay because that meant more Grace for me. I slammed on the brakes, kicking up a dust storm when I realized that I had just passed their long access road. A access road with a FOR SALE sign at the end. I backed up and went up to the house, which looked like it always had except for it being deserted. I peered in the windows but it was clear that nobody had been here for a awhile. Driving back down the road, I took note of the realtor who was selling the place and headed for town so I could find out what was going on. "You're interested in the property, sir?" the man at the real estate place said, giving me a look that said he doubted whether a kid like me had money to buy a loaf of bread much less a house. I explained that I had met the people that owned it last summer and they had invited me back up this year. "Oh. Well, it's been on the market for about a month,' the man explained. "After the woman died..." "Died? Grace died?" I said. "That's crazy. She was young - in her forties!" "51, I believe," The man said. "Don't know as I should be telling you this or not, but yes, she passed away and now Mr. Norrington is selling it." I managed to get an idea of where I might find Roger from the guy, and as I drove to Bennington I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach as I drove while fighting back tears. On the campus of the college, it took me all day to track down Roger, and in the end I did by accident, passing him on the street on the way to another building. "Roger?" I said to the man that I barely recognized. The impish man with the twinkle in his eye was a shadow of himself, although he managed to smile when he looked up and recognized me. "Peter!" he said with a little of his old self, but by then I was losing it, and while I'm sure that having a kid hanging on him and crying while saying he was sorry over and over again was no help to him, it was out of my control. We ended up in a coffee shop, where he explained that Grace had all of a sudden taken ill, and when he went to the doctor they found she had cancer, inoperable and in an advanced stage. "She must have been in a lot of pain for quite a while, but she never let on," Roger said. "That wasn't her way." "I loved her," I said. "Still am in love with her." "I know. I could tell." "Had to tell you that, even if it's probably not what a guy wants to hear another guy say about his woman." "Actually, it's just what I wanted to hear," Roger said. "How could you not love her? Everybody she touched fell in love with her. I was the lucky guy who got to share her life for over 20 years." "She loved you too," Roger continued. "She could never have a child, but I think she saw you as the kid she could have had - without of course, the things we did we you. We spent a lot of time talking about you after you left, and whenever your name would come up she would smile." By the Time I Got to Woodstock "I wish I could buy that house." I said wistfully, before thinking about it. "It was so funky and comfortable, but maybe that was because you guys were there. Now I guess it would just be a house." "I couldn't ever live there again," Roger explained when I asked about him why he was selling the house. "Everything in it screams Grace to me. I just couldn't handle that." I understood that, and after we chatted a while we went about our separate ways, promising to stay in touch, and we did although I somehow knew when we said goodbye that he wouldn't live very long without Grace. While I didn't want to be right, as it turned out I was. When Grace died, I know a part of him went too. The ride home still loomed ahead of me, and my suitcase and trunk full of stuff was a sad reminder of my high hopes for our reunion, and the dark clouds that had loomed over Vermont all day started to make noise as a few drops landed on my windshield. "Great," I muttered to myself, "Just what I needed, although at least I'm not walking this time." In front of me I saw a guy walking on the side of the road, wearing a backpack and a sign that was unreadable. I had to swerve to avoid him and then hit the brakes and looked back. The guy saw me stop and started running up to my car. "Tough to see you in those fatigues," I said as he leaned down to look in the window. "Couldn't read your sign." "Saratoga Springs," the guy said. "It's in New York." "Know it well, I said. "You're in luck. Hop in." The guy looked grubby and smelled like he had been on the road for a while, and while he looked a little older than me, I could relate to him. Been there done that. As it turned out, the man was good company for the trip, and even played some mean blues harmonica to help pass the time. I hadn't been going to Saratoga Springs, but it was only about 30 miles out of the way so I took him right to where he was going, which was a motel his cousin owned where he was supposed to be getting a job. "Man, you were a life saver," he said before getting his backpack out of the back of the car. "Here," I said, fishing a few bucks out of the drink holder than I had gotten back in change from tolls. "Oh man," he said, looking at the pittance like it was a fortune. "Things have been really bad since my Dad died or else I wouldn't be - I'm not usually like this. Give me your address so I can pay you back when I can." "Forget it," I said, and then added. "If you ever want to pay me back..." He nodded after I gave him a condensed version of what Grace and Roger had told me, telling me that he would do just that when things turned around for him, and after I drove off I had to smile because Grace had been right. It felt good, and I really couldn't believe how good. It didn't make me even with Grace and Roger, but it was a start. ... thank you for reading