3 comments/ 20680 views/ 3 favorites Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Chicago By: caprine JEN ~ A GIRL, A CAR, A ROAD: GETTING HER KICKS ON ROUTE 66 © Chicago [This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. As such, the story may or may not totally conform to reality. With the exception of the historical places and persons, all other locations, characters, and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.] HISTORICAL NOTE: The TV drama, Route 66 that aired its first of three season from October of 1960 through June of 1961, almost never actually took place on Route 66. The adventures of "Todd" and "Buzz" took place all over the country: from Maine to Florida, from the right coast to the left coast, and from the Canadian border to the Gulf. I decided to remedy that by telling some of the story of Route 66 and to tell it with full disclosure of Jen's "kicks." The complete story of Route 66 can probably never be fully told, but a check on the internet for the Mother Road or Route 66, will keep you busy for a long, long time. This is the first of a series of stories that I wrote in 2005, that will take Jen from Chicago to L.A. on "The Mother Road," U.S. Route 66. There is sex im the story, but not every other paragraph. If that is your interest, read some of my other stories or go to another author. The story is first and foremost about about the road, second the girl, and third the car. Enjoy. The author. ****** Hi! My name is Jennifer, but no one ever calls me that. I am known simply as "Jen." The story I'm going to tell you took place more than forty years ago in the summer of 1963. I remember what happened, although some specifics have dimmed with time, but I still have my detailed diaries for that decade to which I can refer for most of those specifics. My diaries started at age five. I still keep one daily. I had just turned twenty-three in February of that year and I bought the car in the last week of April. What a car it was, too. It's a shame I didn't hang on to that masterpiece of machinery instead of selling it ten years later--one of the biggest mistakes of my life! Such a rare car would be worth a lot of money today. This story is about me, a car, and a road. So first, more about me. I was a pretty good looker in those days and not too damned bad yet, if I do say so myself. I was twenty-three years old, a flaming natural redhead with green eyes and a smattering of freckles--not too many, from my face to my boobs. Speaking of boobs, I had an ample supply, to the tune of 38 D and all natural, too. This was near the top of my five foot, ten inch frame. Further down, my waist measured 28" and my nicely shaped hips, 36". My thighs and calves were shapely and toned, tapering nicely from my tight little rounded butt. Back then, I wore a size ten dress (eleven or twelve if I did not want it skin tight in places) and a size six EEE shoe. I was into the women's liberation movement, in both attitude and dress, even before it arrived officially with the NOW organization in 1966. That's why I usually wore shorts, halter or tube tops (braless, naturally), either very skimpy panties or none at all, and went barefoot in sandals. I could afford to roam around footloose and fancy free because I was an only child, living on a more than generous inheritance from my parents who had been killed in an accident two years before. It would be a number of years yet before I settled down enough to think about a job and/or marriage. The little Illinois town I grew up in during the 1940s and 1950s had a population at that time of about 3,300 people. It was then and is even more so now, a bedroom community for those who worked in Peoria, a few miles away, especially those who worked at Caterpillar. I don't remember a whole lot from the 1940s, but I do remember bits and pieces of that time. Then there was the fabulous fifties! The tame fifties. Eisenhower would dominate the decade in the White House, and I started fifth grade in 1950. My grade school memories aren't many, but they are mix of pleasant and painful. High school occupied my time the second half of the fifties. Life in a small town high school of less than three hundred students was great, easy, and boring. Boys were boring, interested in only one thing beyond sports, scoring with girls. That is to say, getting to all the bases and scoring a home run was the goal. Only one boy made a home run with me. And that was just to satisfy my own curiosity, but my interest had been whetted for later. That later was college, which for me, began in the fall of 1961, but only lasted two years. I was more interested in campus parties than campus study groups. I also began feeding my sexual appetite rather frequently at some of those parties and I lost interest in gaining either a B.A. or an MRS. very quickly. So, with my parents dead and me terribly bored, with that generous inheritance, that was the end of school for me. I decided to cut loose any way I could. A few years later into the decade brought the women's liberation movement and the so-called sexual revolution and I embraced them, body and soul. Independence! Empowerment! Sexual freedom and Equality! Those were heady thoughts and heady times, especially for women, believe me. ****** Ahhh, then second, we come to 'the car.' I usually referred to it (her) as 'Swifty' or occasionally as 'Miss Swifty." "Just what was this stupid car?" you ask. Well, the stupid car was a 1963 Corvette. "And what." you ask, "was so damned special about a 1963 Corvette?" Well, I will tell you what. Miss Swifty was a 1963, all black Corvette, split window coupe with red interior. And not just any coupe, but the Z06 coupe. General Motors only made 199 of the Z06s and the entire split window coupe line, only that one year. And of those 199, only 50 of them (mine was one) were delivered with the big, N03, 36.5 gallon fuel tank. She had the L84 FI, 327 cubic inch, 360 horse power engine with the G81 positrac rear end. Other parts of the $1,818.45 Z06 option package, added to the base price of $4,257.00 were: the M20 four speed tranny; special, heavy duty racing suspension; special big brakes unique to the Z06; and the P48, knock off wheels. It has been reported that there are only two sets of these P48 wheels in existence today. The option list went on, but you get the idea. This car really was not meant for the casual street driver, but instead for serious track or rally racing. the $6000 plus price tag was a lot of money, a lot of serious money in 1963. Yet today, I get wet pants thinking about that car. ****** And finally third, there is the road--a road that exists now, only in memory for the most part. And that is a fading memory indeed for the average person old enough to even remember the road--except for the Route 66 fanatical fan club nuts, like me. There is more than you ever wanted to know about this famous old road on the internet, in books, and in museums all along or near its once famous route. So I need only tell you a brief overview here. Ever since the debut of the horseless carriage at the opening of the twentieth century (actually, the earliest prototypes, somewhat earlier) the demand for better roads drew increasingly loud clamors. An especially growing demand began for an automobile connecting road across the country to match the cross country route for trains. Legislation for such public highways first appeared in 1916, with revisions in 1921. But it was not until Congress enacted a more comprehensive version of the act in 1925 that government executed its plan for national highway construction. Officially, the numerical designation "66" was assigned to the Chicago-to-Los Angeles route in the summer of 1926, thereby acknowledging it as one of the nation's principal east-west arteries. From 1933 to 1938, thousands of unemployed young men from virtually every state were put to work as laborers on road gangs to pave the final stretches of the original, two lane road. As a result of this monumental effort, the Chicago-to-Los Angeles highway opened in 1932, linking the two cities with a two thousand, four hundred mile, meandering highway that came to be called the "main street of America" because it connected the little hamlets along the way, not just the big city hubs. Once John Steinbeck's novel, The Grapes of Wrath and the movie made from it were history, the term "Mother Road," became the most often used nickname for Route 66. The road was finally reported as "continuously paved" in 1938. Changes in routing and upgrades have marked the history of Route 66 ever since, up to its final abandonment in favor of the new Interstate Highway System that replaced it. Route 66 had become outdated as unlimited access highways were now out of vogue for high speed, cross country driving. The poorly maintained vestiges of the mother road finally and completely succumbed to the new, limited access Interstate System in October 1984 when the final section of the original road was replaced by Interstate 40 at Williams, Arizona. The influence of the Mother Road on American Culture, as the road became lined with motor courts, Burma Shave signs, two pump service stations, and curio shops, is well documented in books and on the web. Just a couple of examples: from the old tourist cabins came the growth of the modern motel industry, catering to the motoring public; and from the one pump grocery store, came the growth of the modern, corporate, individually recognizable brand "filling stations" and monster truck stops. ****** Oh yes, I was going to tell you a story, not give you a history lesson on cars and roads. To the story then. Several things influenced my thinking that started me on the road (pun intended) trip that is the body of this story. One of those influences was Dinah Shore, a popular singer in her heyday in the decade of the fifties. I was out to "See the USA in your Chevrolet," as the Chevrolet ads from that era used to say in print and Dinah Shore said in song. But I was really out more to flaunt my independence--especially my female independence. And just maybe I would fulfill some of my fantasies along the way. A little sight-seeing along the way would just be icing on the cake. A second influence was the old TV show, Route 66, staring Martin Milner and George Maharis. For you younger readers, that was an old CBS program that ran for sixty minutes every Thursday night of the winter television season from October 7, 1960, until the end of the season on September 18, 1964. Nelson Riddle was commissioned to compose a new theme song rather than pay Bobby Troup royalties for his 1946 song, "Get Your Kicks On Route 66." The program was the story of two guys in a new, 1960 Corvette (they got a new one each tv season) finding themselves and adventure (a new one each week) while cruising down, what else, but Route 66. Only later, much later, did I discover that the show was actually filmed in other locations--very little of it on the actual Route 66. I thought, Damn, now that's the life for me! And why not a trip down Route 66? Thus the genesis for my 1963 adventure. And so, on to my story about that adventure. ****** I had been living with my parents until I graduated high school in the spring of 1958. After that, I slummed around for three years, living in my own apartment. Bored, I enrolled at Bradley University in the fall of 1961, shortly after the death of my parents. But as I already mentioned, my interest were more in the campus parties than in the campus study groups. Although my grades were still passing, I was bored and affected by the influences revealed above, I decided to quit school, sub lease my apartment, sell the house, buy the car, and hit the road. The house sold very quickly. I took what personal stuff and whatever, and put most of it in long term storage--sports cars do not have much luggage space. My car, with the big gas tank, had almost zilch for stuff. By the second week of April, I was on the train to Chicago. Train? Yes, train. My local, hometown Chevy dealer did not have the car of my desires in stock. Worse, he said it would take a minimum of three months to special order one and get it to the dealership. But, he did find a Chicago dealer who could have what I wanted in a week to ten days. Great! The eastern start/end of Route 66 was in Chicago and I would have had to drive from my home town to Chicago anyway to start my trip. So, the plan was, I would take the train to Chicago, rent a room for a time, pick up the car when available, and spend some time sight-seeing while I waited. I boarded the early morning Rock Island Rocket at the Peoria Rock Island depot on Water Street and and walked up the aisle to an empty seat. I took the inside, window seat. I found it interesting that at this late date, the Rock Island line was one of the very few that still carried a full dining car and a reserved seat parlor-lounge-drawing room car. A few minutes after I sat down, a handsome young stud stopped in the aisle, leaned over and asked, "Is this seat taken?" "No, no one is sitting there." "Do you mind if I sit there?" "No, I don't mind, please sit down," He sat. "My name's Robert, but I prefer to be called Bob. What's your name?" I replied, "My name's Jen." Bob was giving me quite a visual look over as he was getting acquainted with me. It was obvious he liked what he saw. His gaze, innate to most men, seemed to be centered more at chest level than anywhere else, but I didn't mind. I began flirting with him in return. I was decorously dressed, one of those blue moon things, in a below the knee skirt, blouse, and sweater, but that didn't mean I couldn't let the skirt begin to ride up or that I couldn't unbutton the blouse further to reveal more cleavage. There were other feminine wiles I used to flirt with any man. Bob was no exception. Bob said, "I'm a marketing analyst consultant. I'm on my way back to the home office in Chicago. What about you?" "Oh," I replied, "I am starting an extended vacation. I'm going to Chicago to see some of the sights while I wait to pick up my new car." "Do you know yet where you will be staying?" "I am going to get a suite at the Palmer House," I replied, "It's already booked and waiting." "That's great. I've an apartment not too far away, close to my office. Maybe I will see more of you around town." Bob made that last comment as half question, half statement. He seemed to be fishing around rather than straightforward asking to see more of me. "Anything's possible, Bob. Maybe you will and maybe you won't." The ride was a long one since the train speed had to be held down drastically due to the deteriorating track conditions and the fact that it made frequent, local stops. The trip to Chicago formerly took two and a half hours. Now the trip took double that. Amtrak was still eight years away. Bob and I talked and flirted the whole trip. I learned that he was twenty-six, single, and on career track aimed at upper management. We were sitting near the rear of the nearly empty car, so we were relatively isolated from the few other passengers for much of the trip. Bob took advantage of this situation to aggressively move from flirting to hands on petting. He put a hand on my thigh and, meeting no resistance from me, moved to the inside of the thigh, albeit, over top of my skirt. Emboldened, he moved under the skirt to my bare skin , bare because I was wearing ankle socks. Bob's hand moved upwards fairly quickly. When he reached my bare and wet pussy, he paused in startled surprise. I may have been decorously dressed on the outside, but as usual, I was braless and pantyless on the underside. My pussy was also bald as a rock. Oh, I know shaved pussy wasn't the fashion of the time, but then I was never one to follow fashion conventions. I was prepped, read shaved, for minor surgery a few years back and liked my bald pussy so much, I kept it that way. "God but you feel delicious," Bob said, "and you're so wet!" He had turned to me and nibbled at my neck, jaw, and ear. His right hand was caressing my pussy folds. His middle finger was sliding up and down my slit and his other fingers were on either side, quickly turning my pussy into a raging hot inferno. My nipples had erected as soon as Bob touched my leg and now he had my clit standing out at full erection also. My clit is not so large, but it erects a full inch or more out of its hood when I am aroused. It was doing so now. Again, I got a startled look of amazement from Bob. I quickly worked up to a moderate orgasm and drooled pussy cum all over Bob's fingers and hand. The conductor entered the car from the other end, so Bob quickly withdrew his hand. I got my skirt back down some and laid the newspaper I found when I first sat down, over my lap. The conductor asked for our tickets. Bob had to keep his pussy drenched right hand down and give his ticket to the conductor awkwardly, with his left hand. The aroma of my cum was hard not to miss even so, but the conductor punched the tickets and walked on through into the next car without comment. With the conductor gone, Bob picked my hand, placed in on his crotch, and placed the newspaper over top of it. "My turn," he said, "give me a hand job and finish me off with your mouth." I got Bob unzipped and reached in through his boxers and grabbed his very stiff and throbbing cock. He moaned in pleasure as I took hold of it. His cock throbbed even harder after I got my hand in motion. That cock was about average size, probably nor more than seven inches long and just nicely thick--I could just get my hand around its uncut circumference. Slowly, I pumped that dick up and down as I reached my other hand in and proceeded to tickle and play with his balls. A moan of pleasure escaped Bob's lips as I increased the pumping tempo a bit. "SHIT!" Bob suddenly muttered as another passenger entered the car from the other end. I kept pumping as the passenger kept coming towards us. "Damn," Bob said, "stop until he gets by." I did, but I kept my hand around his cock, withdrawing the other hand. Bob gave me an evil look and quickly spread the displaced newspaper back on his lap. As he passed by, the male passenger paused a moment, and with a smirky grin, said, "Having fun are we, kids? I wouldn't mind having some of that action myself!" I shot right back at him, "It's a long, boring trip, come back in half an hour and you might get your wish." Startled, the man gave a more lustful grin this time and walked on through to the next car. Bob looked at me and asked, "Are you crazy?" "No," I replied, "just horny as hell." "But a Black man?" "Why not? Isn't variety the spice of life?" "Jesus!" cried Bob, "What are you, a nympho?" "Probably," I answered. "I need sex often and a lot of it!" Bob lifted the newspaper and I resumed pumping up and down on his cock. It had gone partially limp at the intrusion of the passenger, but I remedied that in short order. I slowly built up the tempo until I was pumping furiously, slamming my hand up and down and squeezing tightly on his balls again. Suddenly, Bob groaned, "Jesus, Jen, I'm almost there, blow me now!" I leaned down and engulfed his man meat with my mouth. I sucked, hard. Then I swirled my tongue around the helmet head and stuck my tongue in his pee hole. That did it--Bob erupted in a cataclysm of cock cream into my mouth and throat. I managed to swallow nearly all of his cum, leaking only a small amount onto his pants and boxers. Bob shivered as I sucked his cock completely dry. We sat up and adjusted our clothing and then just sat in contemplative silence for some time. When we started conversation again, Bob freely admitted that he had neither time nor interest in a wife and family at this particular point in his life. He intimated without actually saying so, that if he needed a woman, he had no trouble picking one up in the city. Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Chicago I think he said something like, "There are lots and lots of young, good looking country girls coming into the city every day, looking for jobs, adventure, romance. I sometimes give some of them what they're looking for. After all, skirts are a dime-a-dozen in the big city!" Yeah, I thought, love 'em and leave 'em, you callous bastard. I wonder how long is the trail of broken hearts you've left behind? Up to this point, I'd thought Bob a pretty decent guy. I was changing my mind rather quickly. Although my sexual behavior was not much better than his, at least I was up front about it and not callous about it as was Bob. A plan began forming in my mind and a smile grew on my lips. Bob misinterpreted that smile and paternally placed his hand on my thigh again and let it rest there. Ten minutes later, the male passenger who had so rudely interrupted us earlier, returned--with two buddies in tow. "My name is Ron and these two are my buddies, Jim and Ted. I told them what was going on back here and that I had an invitation to the party. They said they would like in on the action too, if that's all right." Bob stared at me in shock. I replied, "Ok, but a blow job is the best I can do for you this time." "Suites us," said Ron, "right guys?" "Oh Yeah!" Jim and Ted answered in unison. Bob was still staring at me in complete shock. He hadn't said a word. He just sat there, eyes bugging out. "All right then," I said, "Bob, you take the window seat and I'll kneel on the floor between the seats on the aisle. Jim, you and Ted sit in the seats across the aisle and wait your turn. Ron, you're first. Dig your cock out and step up! The possibility of someone walking in the door behind us and getting caught only heightens the thrill. Ron unreeled his black cock like a hose. That damned thing just kept coming out and rising taller as it was exposed. Ron's dick was long, really long, longer than anything I had ever seen and I have seen an awfully lot of cock. And it was very thick. I think now, that if there had been the internet back then, Ron would have made a lot of money on a giant dick site. That cock was a real monster--and a half. Well anyway, I had a hell of a time with it, fun hell of a time, that is. I stroked and sucked, bit and chewed, licked and slurped and even deep throated a large portion of the damned thing. Jesus, what a cock. Ron finally convulsed into a mind boggling orgasm, spewing shot after shot, though not a lot of total volume, of cum into my mouth and throat. Hot and ropy, just the way I liked it. My second load in an hour and two waiting to go. God but I loved cock! Ted, also black, stepped up for his turn while Ron put himself back together again and sat down to watch. Ted's cock dropped down to a barely average five or six inches and was already oozing pre cum. He was so horny from watching that he didn't last long before he blew his load. If he was at all embarrassed by his size after seeing Ron in action, Jim, who was white, must have been miserable. Jim's cock was barely four inches long at full reach, but it was nearly as thick as Ron's. Embarrassed or not, he also was horny from watching and blew equally quickly as Ted. The guys put themselves back together, grinned hugely and said, "That was really great, thanks!" They retreated back through the car and out the other end to the next car forward. "Jesus H, Christ on a crutch," was all Bob could mutter. ****** After more than an hour of silent, further travel, as we were finally pulling into the station, Bob came out of his pout and said to me, "Jen, why don't you share a cab with me? It is not out of the way to drop you at the Palmer House on the way to my office." "Ok by me," As the cab neared the Palmer House, I laid my hand on Bob's thigh, rubbing it lightly, and said, "Would you have time and would you like to be my sightseeing guide for a couple of days?" Bob nearly jumped out of his seat. I don't think he expected me to be still interested in him and he was eager to accept. He was speechless, but nodding his head yes. "Then why don't you call for me about noon tomorrow, in time to take me out to lunch. Then I would like to start out with a tour of Grant Park and downtown." Bob finally found his voice again as he replied, "That sounds terrific, Jen. I have quite a lot of accumulated vacation time. I can easily take several days of it immediately. I don't know your last name or room number though, Jen." The cab had pulled to a stop at the curb of the Palmer House as I said, "I will be in the lobby, waiting for you. Meet me there." Before he could answer, I gave his cock a squeeze through his pants and exited the cab. My skirt hiked well up as I struggled out of the cab. The doorman got a real eyeful of my bald pussy as I did. Brittany Spears didn't invent that one, ha! He ushered me inside without a backward glance from me. The next day went well. I slept late. In the shower, I got to thinking about the day before and found my pussy tingling. Both hands grabbed a boob and started playing. My nipples immediately popped erect. My pussy let me know it needed some TLC as well. I lowered my right hand to quell some of its stirrings. My palm cupped my pussy mound and I boar down really hard. Fingers spread to encompass both lips while my middle finger slid up and down my pussy track. That brought some real groans from my throat, deep growls, really. The finger sank deeper into my folds. Oh God, but that felt good! The finger went deeper, then disappeared completely into my vagina. My pelvis humped my finger like mad. Pussy cream was coating my finger. My mind was whirling with thoughts of the blow jobs from yesterday. Then, my thumb found my clit. BOOM! ORGASM! Oh, SHIT, did I cum. I finally came down off my high long enough to finish my shower. I stepped out of the cubicle and dried off in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. I took my time and admired each part of my body as I dried it. The body would do. I then made up my face and dressed with time left to spare before I had to go downstairs. So I called the Chevy car dealer to tell them I was in town and how to contact me. THe car wasn't there yet, of course. Then I went downstairs for my appointment. Bob and I had lunch in the Palmer House. The afternoon was spent walking around in Grant Park, holding hands, kissing, and some groping, all part of the menu. A late afternoon or early evening cab ride around down town to see the sights, including Al Capone's old headquarters building, the New Michigan Hotel and a late dinner at The Berghoff on Adams for German cuisine, were bringing the day to near closing. Bob had trouble at dinner, keeping his hands and feet to himself, but I didn't totally discourage him. I wanted to keep him on the hook for a bit yet. In the cab on the way back to the Palmer House, Bob got a little more playful. I was able to restrain him, for the most part. All Bob got was a boob and nipple grope and a quick pussy grope under my skirt. Just as the cab pulled up to the hotel, I said, "Bob, surprise me with a morning activity and then I want to spend the rest of the day at the Art Institute. Pick me up at nine." With that, I quickly exited the cab, giving the doorman another great shot. before he once again ushered me inside. He gave me a really big smile. Promptly at nine on day two, Bob picked me up in the lobby and said, "I took up your challenge of last night and I have booked us a Wendella boat tour of the Chicago River to see the architectural sights of the city from a different perspective." I thought that was a capital idea and said so. That left us more than the afternoon for the Art Institute. But first, Bob took me to lunch at a nearby, upscale restaurant. We left the Institute just ahead of closing time and took a cab to Vivere's for an early Italian dinner. The next cab ride took us to a Jazz club which occupied our time until well after midnight. Bob groped around on me some, but the place was too crowded and the music too good for him to get away with much and besides, I strongly discouraged him. I wanted to concentrate on the evening and dancing. Bob consequently sat around in half a funk most of the night, drinking way too much while I enjoyed the music and the people. Bob was well under the influence by the time we got back to the Palmer House. I decided to have him spend the night and managed to get him up to my room without attracting undue attention. My doorman who appreciated my shows, helped me with Bob. Once back in the room, we stripped naked and climbed into bed. Bob only got as far as putting his arm around me and groping my tits for a few seconds before he passed out for the rest of the evening. I was up, showered, and dressed the next morning before Bob woke up. When he did struggle awake, I told him, "Bob, I want to spend the day at the Shedd aquarium first and the rest of it at the Field Museum of Natural History. Sooo, you had best get home and clean up and pick me up back here in two hours. Best hop to it, fella!" While I busied myself in the sitting room, among other things, ordering him a taxi, Bob hopped to it as best he could, groaning into his clothes. The front desk called to say the taxi had arrived just as Bob finished dressing. I shooed him out the suite door. The phone rang again--it was the Chevy dealer. My new 'Vette would be ready by nine thirty a.m. the next day. Ok! Day three was it; I could now put the rest of my plan into action. Love 'em and leave 'em Bob was about to find out how it feels. We spent a long, tiring, but for me, at least, enjoyable day at the museum and aquarium. The afternoon still had several hours left in it yet when I told Bob, "I changed my mind about the plans for tonight. I don't care how you do it, but I want you to get us on the beach somewhere on Lake Michigan as quickly as possible. You can have all of me you want--in the water!" I just didn't tell him that my idea was to have a good fuck in Lake Michigan at the start of my odyssey on Route 66 and another in the Pacific Ocean at Santa Monica at the conclusion of my trip. "And in between, you ask?" Well, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we! "What?" croaked Bob. "What did you just say?" "You heard me, now get cracking!" Bob must have wanted me pretty badly by then, because he got us onto a beach. It was early in the season, so the beach was deserted except for a couple sunbathing quite a distance away. I didn't think they'd be a problem. I said, "Race you into the water!" My clothes diappeared in a flash. I beat him, but not by much. But he did get a fine view of my bare ass. After a lot of fooling around and teasing, Bob finally got what he wanted. He pulled me to him and we clinched in a tight embrace. Bob's mouth got busy on my neck and the side of my face, my nose, and my mouth. We were in the water just over waist deep, so he next got busy on my exposed tits. He did a good job on the nipples all around and between them with tongue and teeth. While he was doing this, his right hand was busy on my ass and his left hand was working overtime on my pussy. Both hands were, of course, under water. I also had both hands busy between our two bodies, playing tunes on his stiff dick. "I'm starting to get close to the limit, Jen, hop on before I blow." I grabbed him around the neck while he grabbed me with both hands under my ass and lifted me up to his waist. The buoyancy of the water helped. I freed one hand to guide his cock to the target and sank down on his pole. We began thrusting into one another with vigor. I have to say it, but I have had far better fucks than Bob. He is great in the preliminaries, but he cums up sucking for the real fuck. I also have to say, fucking in water is not all it's cracked up to be. Water doesn't lubricate as well as natural body fluids, at least for fucking. That may have been part of the poor fuck with Bob, but he really wasn't all that good with his pecker. Since we never got past the foreplay before, this was my first actual fuck with Bob. Too bad. Bob managed to get himself off, but he never managed to make me orgasm with his dick, only earlier with his hands and mouth. After he climaxed, Bob's dick deflated completely and dropped out of my pussy. We spent a very little time in post coital holding and hugging, the water was just too damned cold and we were freezing. Consequently, we ran back to the beach to dry off and dress. I said, "Let's go back to the Palmer House and have dinner there. You can drop me first and then go to your place to clean up and dress for dinner. Later, after a truly wonderful dinner, I once again invited Bob up to my room, "for drinks," I said. Since I had had all of Bob I wanted by now, I slipped some knock out drops into his drink and sat beside him on the couch. I guess I'm more callous than I thought about some of my partners. It didn't take long before Bob dropped his face onto my shoulder--out cold. I stripped him down to his shorts, laid him out on the couch and covered him up with a light blanket. He would be out for about twelve hours. I spent a comfortable night alone in the big, king sized bed and was dressed, packed, and standing at the front desk by eight thirty the next morning. I had hung the "Do not disturb" sign on the door knob after I had pulled the door shut. As I completed checking out at the front desk, my taxi arrived. The bell hop carried my luggage to the cab and I gave the driver the address of the Chevy dealer. I made a clean get away. Bob had developed some feelings for me and I wondered how he would deal with the situation. I paid off the cabbie in front of the Chevy dealer and walked into the building and asked for the manager. A middle aged, very good looking man came out and said, "Hello, my name is Richard. What may I do to help you this morning, Miss?" I said, "My name is Jen O'Connell and I believe you have a car ready for me, yes?" "Oh indeed we do!" exclaimed Richard. "Please, step into my office where we can deal with the paper work and then you can be on your way!" The paper work took forty minutes or more. I gave him the name of my Peoria banking institution to check out and there were interminable papers to fill out. Richard accepted my bank draft for the full amount of the car and the car was brought out front, full of gas as requested. A temporary license paper was affixed to the rear window and I was finally ready to go. I shook hands with Richard as he wished me happy motoring. He had a wistful look on his face as he eyed my legs and crotch when he helped me into the Vette. I gave him a long look between my legs as I took my time and slowly settled down behind the wheel. It was difficult to get down into that low car and sit on your butt with your legs nearly straight out in front, parallel to the floor. When I turned the key, the Vette engine growled to life through the dual exhausts, full duals from the headers back. It was an unbelievably gratifying sound. I revved up once and backed off, shifted into first gear, and was off, burning rubber from the start and with each shift thereafter. God, what a car. Finally! I was on my way. Lead me to the starting line. But which one? The start of Route 66 has moved a few times. Originally, the road began on Jackson Boulevard at Michigan Avenue. In 1933, the start, and the Chicago end was moved east onto the reclaimed land for the world's fair to Jackson and Lake Shore Drive. In 1955, Jackson Boulevard became one way, eastbound, west of Michigan Avenue and Adams Street became the westbound U.S. 66. However, the start remained on Jackson at Lake Shore and that is where I started my Route 66 adventure. The opening segment of the "Mother Road," Illinois Route 66, stretched out for 290 miles ahead of me to the Mississippi. Interestingly, its (Illinois Route 66) original two lanes were completely paved before the official inauguration of the overall route in 1926. Much of the rest of the original road, in 1926, was still either dirt or gravel. Anyway, I drove west on Jackson, past Buckingham fountain just to the south and turned right (north) onto Michigan Avenue, passing the historic Santa Fe building at 224 South Michigan Avenue. I continued until I could turn left (west) onto Adams Street. passing the Art Institute just north of Adams on Michigan Avenue. Orchestra Hall sat on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Adams. The route continued on over the South Branch of the Chicago River with Union Station at the intersection with South Canal Street. At an elapsed mileage of two point six miles, or as I will express it throughout the story, two point six miles past go, I crossed Ashland Avenue and turned southwest onto Ogden Avenue. Very quickly that led me into Cicero, once a main part of Al Capone's empire. Next came Berwyn, and then Lyons, still on Ogden Avenue. Entering Lyons I had to turn left (south) onto Harlem Avenue, which is also State Route 43. This was the post 1928 alignment. Before that, the route continued on Ogden. At about a half mile down Harlem, I had to turn right onto Joliet Road, wind my way through Lyons, and then cross the Des Plaines River. It was really too early to make too much of a judgment about my new 'Vette, but I had driven enough to come up with her name: Miss Swifty or just Swifty, for short. And was she ever swift! Those fuel injected horses would really move if I put my foot down. Once out in the open, away from the city streets, I did put my foot down several times. Ya Hoo! Go Swifty, go! By design, Route 66 connected all the little hamlets along the way that it could. There are a lot of them on the way to Joliet. Another route realignment occurred in 1940 at Joliet, but I'll not go into detail on it. On Joliet Road, I managed to find my way to the White Fence Farm restaurant, in business since 1954, and had an excellent chicken dinner at a little after high noon. Back on the road again, I reached Wilmington at fifty-eight miles out of Chicago or, as I said I'd call it, fifty-eight miles past go. It was at Wilmington that I decided to get onto the newer, post 1940, four lane Route 66 for the rest of the trip to Bloomington. The original two lane only existed in short segments by the small hamlets anyway by that time. I wanted to let out Swifty and let her run when I could, and I needed a more open and a straighter road for that. I also needed fewer close spaced little towns for now. The four lane modern version of the road would be much better. I intended to get off at selected spots to see the sights. "Why," you ask, "does the older, two lane Route 66 (and other roads) meander and wander so much?" Well, as I have said at least twice already, the original Route 66 was designed to connect many of the little hamlets as well as the larger population centers. That's one reason. A second reason was, money--or rather the lack of it. I did do some research before leaving on this trip, for a variety of reasons, one of which was so I would know points of interest to stop and gawk. But in the process of this research, I remember this statement by Mr. Cyrus Avery of Tulsa who was one of the founding fathers of the original Route 66. He stated the reason for the meandering better than any others I have heard or read about. He said, "Highways were routed around hills instead of through them, bridges were built eighteen feet wide, section lines were followed despite the right angle turns, because these things made roads cheaper. There wasn't any of this big earth moving machinery then, and we could build miles of roads for what it would have cost to cut through one little hill. If we had made bridges two feet wider, we couldn't have built as many bridges--we had just so much money and there never was enough." Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Chicago Well, give me the open four lanes with Miss Swifty. Now it was on to Braidwood, Dwight, Pontiac, and Bloomington. That segment of my adventures on Route 66 is for next time. Ya Hoo! Go, Swifty, go! Finis ****** [Please? Whether you liked or disliked this story, constructive feedback and votes are a strong encouragement for an author to keep producing. Thanks.]