5 comments/ 22578 views/ 1 favorites Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Santa Monica By: caprine JEN: GETTING HER KICKS ON ROUTE 66 SANTA MONICA, CA © * MF+FF+masturbation+oral+incest [This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. It is a fantasy and as such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.] NOTE: This is number nine in a series. Readers won't know the background or carry-over from previous installments unless installments are read chronologically from number one, CHICAGO. ************ Only three-hundred and twenty miles to go across California. My goal's insight! The ride sure has been one humdinger. Miss Swifty, carrying Sue Ellen and I crossed the Arizona-California state line at Needles which lies 1,941 miles past Go. Can't say as I felt any different for arriving in California except for feeling very warm--more like hot. I was, at that point, entering the Mohave Desert. Miss Swifty's air conditioning was a Godsend. Sue Ellen and I rode along in peaceful silence for some time. "Jen?" "What, Sue Ellen?" "Where are we or what's out there in the dark. "Desert and ghost towns. Nearly ghost towns in some cases." "Oh." "Well,Sue Ellen, west of the Colorado River, leaving Topock, Arizona for for Needles, California and points west, Route 66 runs through the very dry and hot Mojave Desert that I just mentioned. Although hot, the road is good. By 1934, the entire stretch of Route 66 across California had been paved." "So why are we crossing in the dark?" "Let me put it this way, Sue Ellen. The Joads, in John Stenbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, chose to cross it at night to avoid, "[getting] the livin' daylights burned outa us if we go in daylight." "Oh, yeah, dumb me." Duh! "The desert is a bleak plateau cut by scores of untillable valleys, shimmering in the scorching sunlight by day and a dark, shadowy, erie, and, not to mention, cold place in the pale moonlight. The road climbs and drops in and out of those sinks. If you could see it in daylight, Sue Ellen, the desert is unrelieved in its desolation except after rare rains," "What happens when it rains?" "Then Sue Ellen, the desert become a thing of absolute beauty. That's when a thorny mantle of delicate colored vegetation of every possible hue literally blazes into flower." "Desert sand turns into a garden of delight. Is that it?" "You got it, Sue Ellen. You got it." Silence for a while again. Far ahead of us, we see the rise of the blue bulk of the San Gabriel Mountains. The highway runs steadily toward them between hills of jumbled beauty, passing through widely spaced, "towns," mere groups of tourist cabins or motels grouped around gas stations and lunchrooms--to the desert city of Barstow. And that's what I planned to do, pass on through. My ultimate destination, ever since I left Grant Park in Chicago was to tool down this old Mother Road in Miss Swifty, has been Santa Monica, California, at the other end of the road. My ultimate goal is to get fucked silly at twilight in the surf at Santa Monica much like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster in the movie, From Here To Eternity. I know, they were in Halona Cove on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, but at least Santa Monica is a Pacific beach. Needles, California was only some twelve miles away and I planned to hold up there until about midnight before making the one hundred sixty seven miles across the Mojave Desert to Barstow. It was August and boiling hot to try to make that trip in the light of day--even with air conditioning in the car. The clock read three in the afternoon when Sue Ellen and I pulled into needles, fueled my Vette and had her checked over. I found us a room in the 66 motel, another of those landmarks of the Mother Road. I set my travel alarm for ten p.m. and promptly conked out on my side of the bed, clothes and all, dead asleep in less than two minutes. I think Sue followed pretty close behind me, but I was already out. The loud yammering of the alarm woke me precisely at ten. I was groggy, and even with air conditioning, I was sweaty and needed freshening up. I had to shake Sue Ellen to get her up and started. I trooped into the bathroom and stripped naked. When I stepped out to dry, Sue Ellen took her shower. I stood in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and admired my reflection. Back then I was twenty-three, with natural, flaming red hair, top and bottom, and in those days, still sported a full but neatly trimmed bush. My boobs measured a swinging 38C and I had an athletically fit and honed body to match. I'd been driving hard for some time without sex and was horny as hell. Thinking about sex got me even more horny and my left hand drifted to my pussy and slowly caressed the soft folds of skin that it found there. My right hand found my boobs and also moved in soft caresses. My nipples hardened into erection, poking stiffly out about a quarter of an inch. My boobs tingled at my touch and my hand moved faster on them. Tweaking my nipples sent electric sparks into my core to meet the electric sparks coming up from my pussy. My left hand had gotten my pussy wet and slick. My middle finger was cruising up and down my slit, getting very wet and sticky. A I emitted a loud moan, my finger slipped into my cunt canal and disappeared to the joint at its base. I curled my finger and drug it along the top of my canal until I hit my G-Spot. That got another, deep moan out of me and I tickled that spot mercilessly. Well, that did it. I let go, squirting in orgasm, spraying the door mirror. I grabbed my big dildo off the counter and plunged it into my pussy as deep as it would go. What more could a girl ask? Maybe a real cock? Yeeeaaaaahhhh, if only I had one in front of me. Damn, now I'll need another shower. But that sure felt good, anyway. It was worth it. "Jen, what're you doing out there? As if I didn't know." The shower curtain was opaque, not transparent but it certainly wasn't soundproof. Undoubtedly, my groans and squeals gave me away. "Why don't you come in and join me, Jen. I need some TLC, too." I did. And we did. Express some TLC that is. God, did we ever. However, by that time, more than an hour had passed and we needed to get going. At the coffee bar, I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and two sweet rolls. Sue Ellen right behind me. The middle aged waitress came over and sat down. "Mind if I join you two for some coffee. Business is slow right now and I could use a little chat with some coffee. Name's Grace." "No, not at all, please do, but it'll cost you. My name's Jen, by the way. My friend her is Sue Ellen." "Cost me? Whada ya tallinn' about?" Grace had started back to her feet. "Just some information, Grace, so please sit back down. I'd like to know about the area around Needles, its history and such." Grace sat back down. "That's not difficult for me. I moved here with my husband over forty years ago and learned a lot in that time." "Where's your husband now? What's he do?" "Oh, he died five years ago. Heart attack. Dead before he hit the floor." "Oh, I'm so sorry, Grace." "Oh, that's ok, ole Ed wasn't much of husband anyway. Always gone 'prospecting' in the hills, he was." "So, Grace, what can you tell me about Needles and the area?" This was going to cost us some darkness time to get across the Mohave, but I really did like to get the local flavor of information I'd already accumulated in my pre-trip research. I just relaxed, sat back, and listened. Sue Ellen hadn't said a word--yet. "Well, Jen, to begin with, Needles was named for the sharp pointed peaks of the nearby Mojave Mountain Range. A railroad tent city grew into solid buildings when the Southern Pacific Railroad when through in 1883." "I noticed the silhouette of those sharp points when I arrived yesterday afternoon. I can see the connection with the naming of Needles." "The railroad again," said Sue Ellen. It sure seems to have played a significant part in the founding of many a western town. Was that true of Needles as well?" "Yes, it was. When the original depot burned down, it was replaced by the El Garces Harvey House and Depot, named in honor of Father Francisco Garces, a missionary who visited the area in 1776. Do you know what the Harvey Houses were, Jen." "Yes, I'm quite familiar with those chain hotel/restaurants established by Mr. Harvey. His imported and highly chaperoned waitresses became known as the Harvey Girls. I think it was a Fred Harvey that built those all along the Santa Fe right-of-way. in fact, I believe he was in partnership with the. railroad." "Ah, you do indeed know." "And was this one as grand as some of his other ones?" Sue Ellen again. "Oh, for sure. By some, it was considered the "Crown Jewel" of the entire Harvey chain. Management and the Harvey Girls lived in quarters upstairs above the restaurant. Legend has it that many a railroader of the early part of this century would climb atop the rail cars during late afternoon stops at the El Garces, hoping they could spot some of the girls relaxing in their nightgowns outside their living quarters." "What a bunch of pervert Peeping Toms!" "Whatever, but Needles was around before Route 66 took over the old road and assumed the new name and it's still around today. It will likely be here for quite some time to come." "I see the time's gettin on, Grace. Let me take your tab along with ours. If we're going to get across the Mojave before daylight, we'd best get moving. It sure was nice chatting with you." "Sure was, Jen. Sue Ellen, Hope to see you again." "You never can tell, one or both of us just might get back this way again some time. Bye." "Bye," added Sue Ellen. "Bye, Jen. Sue Ellen." Back on the road, Miss Swifty purred in the coolness of the night. we would drive through several wide spots in the road, some of which, were already ghost towns or nearly so. Goffs, just thirty miles west was on the original route of the Mother Road but already bypassed in 1931 by one of those realignments on the way to Essex (another wide spot). We needed to keep going. Next up was Amboy at 2,018 miles past Go. Same story. But, just a few miles past Amboy, the road passes the crater of an extinct volcano. It continues on through the desert and a little place called, Bagdad, on its way to Ludlow. Little remains of Bagdad, just a railroad sign post with the name of the town and a few pieces of broken concrete. Ludlow at 2,047 miles past Go, in its day, was a hard rock mining center and loading point on the railroad for that ore. Beyond Ludlow, lies Newberry Springs at 2,080 miles past Go. This latter town was the location for filming of the movie Bagdad Cafe in 1987. I saw the movie and recall that I'd once driven through the place. Twelve miles later, we went through Daggett at 2,092 miles past Go. Ahead, we saw the glow cast by the lights of Barstow. Dawn was still several hours away. "Is Barstow famous for anything, Jen?" "Some. But let's pull in for some coffee. Besides, I gotta pee again." so, we stopped to stretch and pee. We ambled over to a nearby all night cafe and stepped into the small eatery for coffee and food (I decided I was hungry after all) and sat at a table for four. We sat in peaceful silence while we waited for our order. A real studly type ambled over to our table and said, "I saw you pull in and I'm looking for a ride, so I wondered where you're headed." He looked interesting enough for me to tell him, "Have a seat and we can talk." This guy was the tall, dark, and handsome type with those so called, "smoldering brown eyes," who could easily pass as a college football player. The bulge in the front of his pants also told me he was hung pretty well. I was dressed in my usual traveling outfit of sandals, tight short shorts, and loose halter top. That probably had something to do with the bulge in his pants. Sue Ellen, as usual, was dressed a bit more conservatively than I. I asked him, "Where're you headed?" "I'm going to Cucamonga to my sister's place before going back to UCLA for my senior year." "That's, uh what," I paused looking at my unfolded map itinerary for a moment, "about a hundred miles from here?" "Yeah, about that, I guess." "Well, you're in luck, stud, in two ways. First, I'm going your way. In fact, I'll be going right through Cucamonga on my way to the end of Route 66 at Santa Monica. Second, you're in luck in that my fee to take you along is to service me on demand. In other words, fuck my brains out when I want you to!" "Holy Shit," he replied, "Who'd be foolish enough to turn down that offer? You're on," he said. "Hold on a minute," I said, "There is one BIG catch and one little catch. "I knew your offer was too good to be true. What's the BIG catch?" "Me." That was Sue Ellen, who up to that point had been silent. "Oh, yeah, I didn't stop to think." Sue Ellen's reposte was quick. "That's because any thinking you were doing was with your little head and not your big head." "Sue Ellen!" That was me. "No, She's right, Jen. I was totally shoving her out of the picture by simply ignoring her presence." "Well, she has been unusually quiet, even moody for the last several hours." "It's oK, Jen. What I've been quietly mulling over in my mind since we left this morning was this. I've an old boyfriend a short drive away from here. I've been trying to decide if I should try to get in touch with him again. If I did, I'd be leaving you and I didn't want to just run out on you." "Why don't you use the pay phone over there and give him a call. You still got his number?" "Yeah, the number's still in my little book. But call him at this late hour?" "Was he a really close boyfriend?" "We fucked a lot, if that's what you mean. But yeah, we were really close. we didn't really want to part--it was just circumstances that forced us in different directions." "Go call him, he won't mind you gettin' him up. He doesn't have a live in woman with him, does he?" "Not that I know of, Jen." "Go call him." "OK." Jen left for the phone booth. "Now, where were we, stud?" "I don't mind you callin' me 'Stud,' but my name's Jay." "I'd rather call you Stud." "And I gather from the conversation you had with Sue Ellen that your name's Jen." "Yes, so I guess all that part's settled." "So, you mentioned a big catch and a little catch. What's the little catch?" "The little catch is, I want you to accompany me all the way to Santa Monica to fulfill a fantasy of mine. If you're really good, I might drive you back to Cucamonga. Do you think you could give up your visit with your sister to ride along with me?" "Just out of curiosity, what's the fantasy?" "To fuck my brains out on the surf at Santa Monica a la Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here To Eternity!" "In that case, I see no problem. I'm really 'good' as you put it and I can see my sister another time. I'm more than game." "OOOH, that sounds so hip, Jen." That was Sue Ellen who had rejoined us, standing quietly to the side, but within listening distance." "So, girl, how'd you make out with the boyfriend?" "He'll be here to pick me up in half an hour. Care for some more coffee or are you in too big a hurry to get to that surf?" "More coffee sounds fine to me," said Jay. "Great," said Sue. "Well, I guess you can pour me another cup then," said I. The three of us chatted quietly and steadily over our coffee. The time passed swiftly. Before we knew it, a gorgeous hunk of maleness came in, looked around, and beat a direct line to our table. Sue Ellen's eyes lit up so brightly, the table nearly glowed. Oh, that girl had it bad for that man. Introductions were made all 'round, but little time was wasted before Sue Ellen and her beau were out the door and gone. "Wow, who swept who off their feet in that one, Jay?" "Jay? What happened to Stud?" "I'll save stud for when you've proven it and when we're alone if you deserve it." "Fine with me. Do we have any reason to hang around here any longer?" "None that I know, Jay." So, Jay paid the bill before we went outside and climbed into Miss Swifty, Jay behind the wheel at my gesture, and took off for San Bernadino some eighty miles south. We had the windows all down, enjoying the cool air rushing through. I decided to make things interesting by dropping my halter top. Of course, Jay noticed immediately as my swinging 38s popped free. Likewise, I noticed an instant bulge growing between his legs. "Just be sure you watch the road at least some of the time, big boy, this is no time to bang up Miss Swifty?. "Maybe not, but I'd sure like to bang you up, Jen." "In due time, boy, in due time." We were moving through Barstow on Route 66. Not much to see in the darkness and we'd be well out of town after sunrise. "Know anything about this town, Jay?" "Not much, how 'bout you?" "Some. It got its name to honor William Barstow Strong." "Who was he, Jen." "He was a former president of the Santa Fe Railroad." "Figures." "The area, including nearby settlements of Daggett and Calico, had already become a thriving mining center when silver was discovered in the Calico Mountains. That was, uh, in 1882, I think. The town was founded in 1888, when the Santa Fe tracks were laid through the area. When the silver played out, it was the railroad that saved Barstow while the other settlements around became ghost towns or simply melted back into the desert." "That figures as well, Jen." "The coming of Route 66 further extended the life of Barstow. The town's Harvey Hotel, the Casa Del Desierto, was another help. It boasted a huge ball room and hosted many a local dance or other social event in addition to catering to the Model T travelers of the day--just like so many other places along the route of the Santa Fe Railroad." "Good ole Route 66, eh Jen?" "That's right, Jay. I also know that Barstow, or in reality, a point just east of Barstow, was the historic big fork of Route 66" "Whada ya mean by, 'fork'?" "I mean that a lot of the travelers headed to California continued west from here and on to Bakersfield. The 'Oakies" like the Judds in Stienbeck's book, for example. Those people would end up in central California. But they no longer traveled on Route 66." "Why not, Jen?" "Because Route 66 didn't go that way. The Mother Road turned south-southwest out of Barstow to head for Victorville and the ultimate drop down to Los Angeles. That's why." "I never knew that Jen. I always just assumed, I guess, that Route 66 continued straight west all the way through to the middle of the state." "That's a common misconception. Most of the Oakies were looking for the supposedly readily available jobs in the central valley and the legends of the road are misleading as to the road's actual route within California. Los Angeles always was the intended start/end for Route 66 and Chicago the other end. All the way from Chicago to L.A. or vise versa." "Well, I guess you learn something new everyday." Reaching the end of the main drag, Jay reversed our course on my instructions so we could head back east of town to the "fork." Our route then lay south/southwest along the meandering course of the Mohave River, taking in Lenwood, Helendale, and Oro Grande on a leisurely way to Victorville. Only the last named had anything of note left to see. "The route were taking through here, the so called Oro Grande Route of 66, has been familiar to travelers for literally hundreds of years." Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Santa Monica "How's that, Jen?" "The Spanish explorers followed the footsteps of the Native Indians. The Spanish were followed by the nineteenth century explorer mountain men and later settlers. People such as Jedediah Smith, who by the way, crossed the Mojave Desert during the year 1826-27 or the Mormons who traveled from Salt Lake City to build San Bernadino. Wagon trains of pioneers and mail stage coaches also passed through on this trail." "where'd you learn all this stuff, Jen?" "Jay, as i've told others, I did some serious pr-trip research and study. Because of that, I've got some notion of what to look for in any area I drive through and know whether or not I might want to stop to site-see." "That sounds like more work than I'd care to do." "Yes, that's quite likely, Jay." Victorville lay some thirty miles further down the road. When we got there, I told Jay, "Pull in anywhere that's open. I gotta pee again. All that coffee back in Barstow, I guess." Miss Swifty had plenty of fuel yet, so after I returned to the car, we got back on the road and moved out. "I suppose you're fully informed about Victorville, too, Jen?" "Sorta. Long before being named after Jacob Nash VIctor, it was an important staging post for on the pioneers' pathway to the San Bernadino Mountains. In those earlier days, it was known as Mormon Crossing. Eventually, the mining died out but Victorville continued to thrive as it became a popular site for shooting the new moving pictures. Word has it that more than two-hundred movies were shot here between 1914 and 1937." "Is that all?" This was said in very sarcastic voice. So, I unloaded some more. "No. The town was just Victor at first, after the man I mentioned. But, after a post office was established in 1901, it became Victorville in order to distinguish it from Victor, Colorado. It was shortly thereafter that limestone and granite were discovered in the surrounding area, which soon led to the cement manufacturing industry that still sustains the area today. The current population is just over eight thousand." "My God, Jen, you're a walking encyclopedia." "You asked, remember? You also might like to know that Victorville is on the southern edge of the Mojave Desert and that it's only a mere thirty-seven or so miles further on to San Bernardino. Victorville also lies just west of the Apple Valley." "Are you done yet?" "Nope, got a little trivia yet. Did you know the first two drafts of the movie, Citizen Kane, were completed here in 1940? That was because Orson Welles sent the two of writers here to write in seclusion because one of the two had a legendary drinking habit. Or, did you know that Sammy Davis, Jr. almost died in an automobile accident in Victorville on a return trip from Las Vegas to Los Angeles? Davis lost his left eye as a result and wore a glass one the rest of his life. Or, did you know that Victorville was the place Roy Rogers and Dale Evans had a secluded ranch and the Roy Rogers Museum?" "UNCLE, UNCLE, I've heard enough! Shit!" "OK." But I didn't stay quiet for long. We were coming fast upon Cajon Pass. That pass separates the San Gabriel Mountains from the San Bernardino Mountains and was once the only gateway, for miles and miles, through those mountains negotiable by wagon trains of the pioneers. Daylight was hours old and I told Jay to slow down so I could gawk. "It's just a pass," Jay intoned. "Just a pass, indeed!" "Uht-OH, now I did it again, Didn't I Jen?" "Well, besides being the only way through for wagons of the pioneers, it was the convergence point of the Mohave Trail, the Santa Fe Trail, The Mormon Trail, and the Spanish Trail. Along this, 'just a pass,' and trail, traveled history's Indians, Mountain Men trappers, explorers, and scouts on their way to what would become the San Bernardino Valley. The first paved highway went through in 1916." We stopped at the top of the pass at the Cajon Summit Inn than began business eleven years before in 1952. We both needed to cool off and I had to pee again. But what did we do when I came back to our table? We both drank some more coffee. When we returned to Miss Swifty, we topped of her tank and I got behind the wheel again. The ride down from the summit was another harrowing ride down a twisting, hairpin curved mountain road. Exciting, though. Jay looked white faced at the bottom, but he said nothing. We had reached San Bernardino at 2,178 miles past Go. Spanish missionaries were the first white settlers of the area in the early 1800's. They built a string of missions, including those along the California coast, as outposts for other missionaries who traveled the territory and preached the white man's religion to the native Indians. The first mission in the area was established in 1810 and was named San Bernardino after the patron saint of the day on the Catholic Calendar. It was a name that has stuck ever since for the resulting town and as the name of the valley. "Jay, did..." "Oh God, here we go again. No wonder Sue Ellen wanted to get away." "Oh, just hush up, Jay. Did you know, the first railroad came through Cajon Pass in 1885?" "Bet it was the Santa Fe." "Yes, in fact, it was the Santa Fe, Jay. Very soon the Union Pacific and the Southern Railroad had also converged on the city. San Bernardino's future was ensured. Few at that time could envision the decline of railroad transportation. By 1900, the town had more than six thousand people. In the next decade, that population doubled." "The railroad brought all this on, did it?" "Mostly. I want to see the building that once housed the headquarters of the Santa Fe Railroad Pacific Coast Locomotive Works and depot. It was completed in 1918 in the Mission Revival style and served as a passenger transportation center and as the railroad's administrative offices. The building also contained polished tile walls and floors, several dining areas, a telegraph office for the railroad, and a Western Union office for the public. Another, opulent Harvey House Restaurant was built in 1921 on an expanded section." "Speaking of restaurants, I'm hungry again. Can we stop for food, Jen?" "Jesus, Jay, we just ate only twenty miles back." "Just some coffee and a roll or two, please, Jen?" We stopped, briefly, at an old cafe long famous on Route 66. It was the Mitla Cafe, in business since the end of the 1930's. But then it was back on the road. Cutting west from San Bernadino, it wasn't long before we hit the greater Los Angeles Metropolitan Area and found it's northern burbs. Places like Rialto, Fontana, Cucamonga, Claremont, Glendora, Monrovia. Originally, these were just more of the spaced out little towns and villages that Route 66 was meant to connect on its Chicago/Los Angeles journey. Later urban sprawl of Los Angeles would connect them into one huge metropolitan area. From Pasadena, the road would snake through these places for some eighty miles of city streets variously known as Foothill Boulevard, Colorado Boulevard, Huntington Drive, Sunset Boulevard, and Santa Monica Boulevard at the road's terminus near Santa Monica Pier. But, we had a ways yet to go. In a previous day, Rialto was once known for its many lemon groves. Nearby was another Wigwam Motel that rented its rooms by the hour with the slogan, "Do it in a Teepee." "You're pulling my leg, Jen." "No, Jay, that was their actual slogan, displayed from billboards to bumper stickers." "What's this next little burg, Jen?" "We're about to enter Fontana.." A few minutes later, we passed one of those ubiquitous orange juice stands that are scattered all along this part of California. It was built in the shape of a huge ten or twelve foot orange with a big. rectangular window opening that functioned as the serving window to the customers that would stand in line outside, waiting for their glass of juice. Ten miles further along, at 2,193 miles past Go, we drove into Rancho Cucamonga. Jay directed me to the house of his sister. Before we got there, he asked, "Isn't there a line in the Jack Benny radio program about Cucamonga?" "Yes, Jay, but I don't remember the line exactly. It's always spoken by an announcer in a railroad station and included the towns of Cucamonga and Azusa." "It's amazing, Jen. My sister's told me this area around Cucamonga was once nothing but a land of orange groves and vineyards. Those slowly gave way to the spread of businesses and homes to become one of the fastest growing suburbs in the L.A. metropolitan area. The city is nearing 100,000 in population. Oh, that's my sisters house over there on the corner--the yellow one." I pulled into the short driveway. "Will you come in and meet my sis, Jen?" "No, I really need to keep going. The disappointed look on his face was too much for me. "Ah, well, all right I guess. Just for a few minutes." Jay's sister opened the door at his knock. What a knockout she was! Hmmm. Jay and his sister had a passionate embrace. She appeared to be slightly older than he. She was an inch or two taller than Jay and was built rather well, if I do say so as another female. Luscious, ripe, sensuous, were words that came to my mind. They finally broke apart "Jen, I want you to meet my sister, June. June, this is my friend, Jen. And that Vette out there is hers. That's Miss Swifty. "Happy to meet yous" were exchanged and we were invited on in. June wouldn't have it any other way--we had to have coffee. It wasn't difficult to accept. June had just taken fresh baked chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. I didn't have a chance. I caught several interesting looks June threw my way while we chatted and ate. "Jay, I've some bad news for you." "Huh?" "I have to leave tomorrow afternoon on a flight to the east coast on business. I won't be able to visit with you, but you can still stay here at my place for as long as you need." "No, June, if you have to leave, I don't want to stay here. To tell you the truth, I've already promised Jen I'd go on to Santa Monica with her. Once there, I'd just show up a little early for my summer job." "Well at least I want you to stay overnight. You can leave tomorrow." Jay look my way and raised his eyebrows. I agreed with a slight nod. "If Jen can stay overnight too, it's a deal, sis." "Certainly she can stay as well. Oh, it'll be just great to have an evening to catch up on all the news and talk to you again, Jay." We sat around the table for some time with our coffee and eating too many cookies from the huge batch June ended up baking. I really liked what I saw in June. Later, June said, "Jay, why don't you go find something to do while Jen and I get supper." "In other words, 'get lost,' eh, June?" "You got it buster." "If it's ok with you, Jen, I'd like to borrow Miss Swifty. I've several errands I can run if I have wheels." I told him to get the keys out of my purse. Moments later, we heard him fire up Miss Swifty and depart. "Are you sleeping with him, Jen?" "No--at least not yet.' "Are you planning to?" "Yes." Silence ensued for a while as we went about meal preparation. June showed me where things were and told me what part of the fare to prepare while she prepared other bits. I thought she brushed against me more than would normally occur in a fairly large room. It didn't take long for it to become obvious that she was coming on to me and, as time went by, not at all subtly. As june brushed by me, rubbing her thigh against my ass in the process, I asked, "Do you like what you see, June?" Turning back to look at me, she replied, "Oh, yes, I certainly do." "So?" "So, Jen, I thought we might make it a threesome tonight." That did get my attention, right quick like. "A threesome? What would Jay think about that?" "Nothing to think about. We've been lovers since he turned fifteen. That was over five years ago." "Oh." "It was just one of those things that happened. We were always really close with me as the big sister looking after my little brother. Well, one thing led to another and..." "And you still are, uh, lovers?" "Yes. Oh, he goes to college nearby, has a roommate, and goes out with a girl, but he always come back to me at least once a week for our lusty fuck sessions. Sometimes it's a TLC type fuck and then again it's a pure animal lust type fuck. But yes, we're still fucking." "So, how do we proceed, June?" She stepped into me, clinched and we just melted into a kiss. When we broke for air, I said, "That's not the proceeding I had in mind." "I know that, Jen. Later tonight you can seduce him into bed. A little while later, I'll just wander into the bedroom and join the party. Meanwhile..." We quickly pulled or pushed tops clear and slobbered over each other's tits with tongue and teeth. We each slipped under clothing and got a hand in the other's pussy. The rumble of Miss Swifty pulling into the drive gave us a start. In a flash, we reordered our clothing and resumed taking up the evening meal. After the meal, we sat around in the living room and chatted. Jay was between June and I. My hand landed on the thigh next to me and slowly moved up and down just a little bit. My hand moved to the inner thigh and then slowly upward. Jay was quickly breathing in an irregular fashion, panting, really. My hand got to the tent in his pants only to find another hand already there. June had beat me to the goal. June and I both turned to caress Jay with our other hand while we planted kisses and whatever along his neck, jaw, and ear on our side. So much for our well laid plans. June opened his belt; I pulled his zipper down. It took but a moment for us to relieve Jay of his pants and boxers. Out sprang a really nice cock at very full attention. It wasn't monstrous, but it wasn't small either. It was more than enough for June and I together to handle. And handle it we did. Boy, did we ever. I licked my side of Jay's pulsing shaft while June licked her side of his shaft. When our tongues reached the crown of his cock, they dueled with each other right on the tip of that fuck stick. He musta been really horny because he lost it all in a big blast the third time our tongues met at the tip of his knob. June and I both caught a simultaneous royal facial from that explosion. We ended up gooey from forehead to chin, literally dripping in Jay's cum. "Oh, God, Oh shit, oh fuck," was his verbal response. "Ditto," I exclaimed. "Me three," chimed in June. June and I quickly divested Jay of his shirt and sandals. Then it was our turn. She and I did a slow strip tease in front of Jay as he sat in a post orgasmic daze on the sofa, watching us. Well, in my case, it was a quick strip because, as you already know, I never wear much clothing to start with. June's strip took a bit longer. She was really good at it too. Later, I learned that she did pole dancing for a living and made a pile of money doing so. By the way, she had not yet married, so she lived alone when Jay wasn't around. As we at last both stood naked before him, Jay stood up and put an arm around each of us. We stood there in a tight huddle in a naked clinch of bodies. His newly reborn hardon was sticking straight out, trapped between the thighs of June and I. We all three shuffled down the hall to a bedroom. The night was a wild one--at least for a while. June and I began the ball. We went at each other for over an hour while Jay used his mouth and hands for a boob caress here or a pussy lick there. When June lay back, temporarily satiated, I was still on an orgasmic high. "Alright, Jay, now its your turn to have the goodies. Come here and fuck my brains out." Jay was a bit slow to crawl up onto my saddle. He stuttered something incomprehensible. "What is it, Jay? What's wrong?" "I, I, uh, I can't ge, get it uh,uh, up." "You can't get it up? You mean you can't get an erection?" "Yeah, damn it, that's what I mean." "Well what happened?" asked June, suddenly quite lucid. "I don't know, ladies, I just don't know. But I sure as hell can't get any wood for love nor money right now." June and I used our hands and mouths on Jay for a long time to no avail. We all finally went to sleep for a few hours. We were all three groggy when we woke up a few hours after dawn. June and I tried again with Jay for another lengthy session. Again, no response from Jay's cock. "Well, now Whada we do," asked June? There was a quiet pause for a bit before Jay gave his opinion. "I don't think I'll be going on with you, Jen. You should go on with your plans. I need to stay here at June's to get the medicos on to tracking down my problem. June, you can go ahead with your plans; I'll be fine here with my medical appointments. I know how hard it would be for you to cancel your business trip. When the docs are done with me, I'll make my way to my summer job." After some brief arguing, Jay's decision became solid and we two gals gave in. June had a lot to do before catching her three o'clock flight, so I didn't waste too much time getting ready to resume my Route 66 trip. Shortly thereafter at the door, the three of us had a passionate session of good-bye kissing before I climbed into Miss Swifty and fired her up. After a double toot of her horn, I backed Miss Swifty onto the street and pointed her back to Route 66. A few miles further along, I passed through the area of Upland. I did stop to take a picture of the statue of a pioneer woman with a babe in arms and a toddler clinging to her skirts. She held a rifle butted on the ground in her other hand. She is called, the Madonna of the Trail, commissioned in 1927 to honor pioneer women. She is one of twelve such, Madonnas of the Trail, along the National Old Trails Road. Route 66 continued on down Foothill Boulevard, so Miss Swifty and I did too. Claremont, at 2,198 miles past Go was and is noted as an academic center with six colleges. The oldest, Pomona College, was founded in 1887. La Verne, Glendora, and Azusa flashed quickly by. Azusa, at 2,208 miles past Go, had a single screen, outdoor movie theater that would remain an operating icon well after the drive in movie craze had ended. It would also be remembered for its place in a Jack Benny radio program skit. From Azusa, it was a continuing string of little suburbs, nearly back to back. Duarte, Monrovia, Arcadia, and finally, Pasadena at 2,222 miles past Go and ten miles northeast of downtown Los Angeles. Only Pasadena is really widely known. The town was originally part of the old San Gabriel Mission. The modern city began to take shape with the influx of wealthy settlers in the 1870's. What they built in the way of business buildings and homes resulted in the listing of no less than one thousand Pasadena properties on the National Register of Historic Places. But, the city is most well known for its annual Tournament of Roses Parade on every New Year's Day as an adjunct to the Rose Bowl football game. That's the big game between the football champions of the Mid West's Big Ten universities and the west coast's Pac (Pacific) Ten Champion football team. All the parade floats each year are constructed of living flowers. Headquarters for the parade organizers was once the home of a member of the Wrigley's Chewing Gum dynasty. That building is located along "Millionaires' Row' which is Orange Grove Boulevard. Eleven miles further found me driving into Hollywood, California. Its founder, H. H.. Wilcox, began laying out streets and selling lots in 1886 when the area was nothing but farmland. His wife named the community which formally incorporated in 1903. From 1911 when the Nestor Company opened the first ever Hollywood film studio, the community became the center of nearly all of America's greatest movie production houses. Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Santa Monica By my time there, Hollywood was also attracting record labels, sound studios, and other media businesses. That included Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss's A & M Records that opened a distinctive headquarters building on North Vine Street in 1954. The famous Hollywood sign near the top of Mount Lee was first erected in 1923 and read-"Hollywoodland," advertising a new housing development in the hills above town. In the beginning the Hollywoodland sign was lit up at night by thousands of light bulbs maintained by a man who lived in a cabin behind one of the L's. As I was exiting Hollywood, I glanced to my right and got a real jolt. Marilyn Monroe in a bikini was sitting in my passenger seat, grinning at me. Grinning, hell, she was laughing so hard her tits bounced up and down, threatening to fall out of her top. I was flabbergasted. I thought I heard a "Look Out" exclamation. I looked back to the front and barely stopped in time before rear ending the vehicle in front of me. WhenI looked at the passenger seat again, it was empty. God damn, not those damned ghosts again. I suddenly had the urge to pee. When I stopped at a station to relieve my bladder and top off Miss Swifty's tank, I told the pump jockey about what just happened. "That's a bit unusual, Miss. Normally, Marilyn's ghost, and that's what you likely saw, is mostly seen in or around the Knickerbocker Hotel here in town. Over the years, it catered to hundreds of celebrities and I imagine, harbors untold secrets. Some claim to have seen the ghost of Rudolph Valentno there as well. The hotel's over at 1714 Ivar Avenue if you want to go check it out." "Thanks for the information, but no thanks. I don't have time to go to the hotel, but your explanation was a great help to me. What do I owe you here for the gas?" Beyond Hollywood, all that remains of Route 66 is a few miles of Santa Monica Boulevard, whose intersection with Ocean Boulevard marks the official end of Route 66. This is at 2,250 miles past Go. A few blocks away is the famous Santa Monica Municipal Pier, built in 1909. Santa Monica was also the location of many of Raymond Chandler's thrillers, most notably, Farewell My Lovely. Despite the urban environment, I'd been driving quite a bit of the way from Cucamonga with my boobs bared. Cooler (as in air cool) that way. It was time to find a place to stay, headquarters so to say, so It was also time to go "civilized" again and put my top back on. I registered for a week at a hotel, the Georgian. That done, I did crash for a nap. When I woke up, nicely refreshed, I decided I wanted to take my first swim in the Pacific Ocean. I got into my very skimpy bikini and a skirt wrap. The hotel valet brought Miss Swifty around and I was off to the Santa Monica beaches. I found a great public beach where I parked up above in the lot. I took the sandy path down to the beach below and spread out my blanket. After spending a little time arranging my things, I dropped the skirt wrap and ran for the water. God, did that water ever feel good in the heat of that day. After a refreshing swim, I slowly ambled back to my blanket and sat down. I'd drawn a lot of looks ever since I first hit the beach, but I drew even more as I casually dropped my bikini top to the blanket. The beach was not topless--at least no one else was bare, but since when did that stop me? With my bare boobs swaying, not only did I draw looks, but I also drew a constant line of studs who found some reason to walk by and ogle me close up. Their stares weren't veiled ones, either, especially when I dug out my sun tan oil and slowly lathered it onto my big boobs. "Need some help with that?" I was about to tell the guy to get lost, but I looked up first. That was a mistake. That was it; I was lost. A spark, a silent communication, something, leaped between our eyes. I could tell, we both felt it. I guess it might be called mutual love at first sight, I don't know. Whatever it was, it'd never happened to me before. After a lengthy period of silent contemplation between us, I just reached out, speechlessly, and handed him the bottle. I flopped over onto my stomach and he, John, as I'd shortly learn, slowly applied the oil to my shoulders and back. His hands caressed the sides of my tits as he spread the oil down the side of my ribs. That's when I moaned the first time. Then his hands dropped lower. My ass was completely bare. Only the string of the mini bikini bottom came up my crack and became the waist band covered any skin. My moans increased in number but were soft as John caressed in the oil on my ass cheeks. He didn't reach into my crevice but worked around it on his way down my thighs. I quietly, but continuously moaned as he worked his way down my inner thighs to my feet. He went down one side and back up the other. "Ok, time for the other side." I rolled over willingly at John's nudge. My neck and shoulders were done quickly. He was fully aware, I'm sure, that I'd already done my boobs. No matter, he did them again, slowly, sensuously, lovingly. God, my thin bikini bottom,a teeny tiny triangle patch of cloth, was soaked with my pussy juices. He didn't stay long on my boobs. John worked his way down my chest to my navel and then around, not through my pubic area, and down on leg again and up the other. I was by then shaking and covered with goose bumps. I think I did have at least one mild orgasm. John could plainly see I was quivering with desire. He kissed me on my upper lips, passionately. But that was all. "Later, babe, later." He bent over to the side of me and for the first time I saw the surf board he'd laid down earlier. He looked down at me. "I'll pick you up at eight at your hotel. I saw you earlier today so I know where it's located. We'll have dinner, semi formal. See you at eight." And then he disappeared up the path to the parking lot where I heard an engine start up and a vehicle roar off. Jeeze, what the hell just happened? I was unable to answer that question fully, but I was still quivering and shaking from the sexual tension and desire of that encounter. My God, that guy sure knows how to stoke the fires. A chunk of time was used up on a shopping trip. I needed to buy an outfit to wear for dinner. No one appeared to be surprised to see a bikini clad female, shopping. Miss Swifty had no real storage space, so I couldn't carry much for luggage for all occasions. Likewise, I would donate my clothes, or just leave those that I couldn't take with me. Finally, I returned to the Georgian to prepare for my evening. I never doubted John would show up. As I stooped before my door to place the key in the lock, a voice behind me said, "Good evening, young lady." I turned to reply, "Goo..." No one was there! Oh my God, here we go again. I heard a disembodied, hearty chuckle receding down the hallway as I returned to unlock my door. As I stepped into my suite, I heard a distinctly female voice say, "Bravo, well done, Cosmo." Once again, when I looked back in the hall, there was no one around. With a shrug, I reentered my rooms and locked the door. After dropping to the floor the miniscule bikini I'd been wearing, I stepped into the huge bathroom. I spent a luxurious hour, soaking in hot bubble bath, only climbing out when the water temperature dropped below tepid. It took another hour to fix my hair and face. I don't usually take that long for such things, but the evening had the allure of magic and something special. At last, the time came to dress. I laid out my risqué purchases of a few hours earlier. the sheer, black thigh highs were first. One leg at a time, I slowly and sensuously rolled them up my calves and onto my thighs. The tight, elastic tops would have been sufficient, but I added a black garter belt in anticipation of what lay ahead later. Sans panties or bra, I climbed into the black cocktail dress. The dress was short, barely covering my stocking tops when I stood straight. The top of the dress bared a lot of skin--a very lot of skin. Any movement would bare anywhere from just a nipple to a whole boob falling free--so I'd have to be very careful--unless of course, I wanted to offer more exposure. Three inch heels in black patent leather went on my feet. A single strand necklace of pearls, teardrop pearl earrings, and a single strand, pearl bracelet completed my outfit for the night; Yeah, if he wasn't already hooked, I definitely wanted to seduce John. Promptly at eight, John knocked on the door of my suite. We took the elevator down to the lobby. I already had goose-bumps up and down my arms. My pussy was itching. Exiting the elevator, John, much to my surprise, steered me to the hotel dining room. In answer to my cocked eyebrow, John replied, "This really is a great place and a very special place to eat. I'll tell you about it--over dinner. "Ok, it's your show--for the first part of the evening anyway." We were ushered to a reserved and secluded table by the Matre D'. I thought my last, formal, gourmet dinner was something. And as you all know, I love to eat and do eat--like a half starved trucker. The dinner with John turned out to be "out of this world!" When all was said and done, the dinner lasted over five hours, including a half hour "intermission" for us to rest and recoup in preparation for the final courses of the meal. Dinner began with a champagne cocktail--sparkling water poured over a choice of lemon verbena, pineapple sage, or rose geranium. As we sipped our drinks, John asked me a question. "Tell me something about yourself, won't you, Jen?" With no reservations or reluctance, I told him the story of my life up to the time I met him. Of course, I didn't mention the sexy details of much of anything, really, about my sex life. That might or might not come later. I told him all about my Route 66 trip, again without the sexcapades sidelights. He listened in rapt attention. I didn't get very deep into my story before the waiter interrupted me to deliver our next dinner course. That course consisted of rosemary ciabatta rolls with chive blossom butter. Quite delicious, by the way. I went on with my story. Shortly, the waiter returned. That time he delivered our entree: Yearling Pacific Abalone with sea bean tempura, rosemary mussel skewer with oregano aioli, and warm kumamoto oyster in lovage cream with paddlefish caviar. Phew! But I was hungary and more than able to keep up with John. In fact, before the evening was over, I was quite able to outdo him, in more ways tnan one! Before the waiter showed up again, John exclaimed, "Well, I see I have my life's purpose cut out for me in just keeping you fed!" "Oh? You plan on being around in my life that long, do you?" "Don't you figure on being around that long in mine?" "As a matter of fact, yes, I do!" "Welcome to the club then, Jen. I think we both knew it the moment our eyes locked back there on the beach this afternoon." "Yes," was my simple reply. It was all I needed to answer and we both knew that as well. After a pause in which we stared into each other's eyes for a spell, I cleared my throat and picked up the thread of my story again. I'd just reached our meeting on the beach in my story when the waiter once again I was interrupted. This time it was the wine steward who delivered our post entree wine, a Mirassou Blanc de Noir. "Alright, John, now it's your turn to tell me your story." "OK, Jen. My family is old money, quite well off, since the days days when my Great-Great Grandfather came to California in 1850 and made the first family pile. Not in gold mines, but in the freighting and hardware business of supplying the miners. Each generation has found some way to add to the family fortune. My father did it in real estate. "So you don't have to work any more than I do, eh John?" "Up to the present, that's correct. My parents died in a freeway crash when I was sixteen. They left the family fortune to me, their only child, in a trust. I gained full control of that trust five years later when I turned Twenty-one. I've been a practicing beach-bum, come surfer for the ensuing seven years. Then, I met you. I don't mind telling you, my world has turned topsy-turvy because of it." l had the decency to blush. We were both saved immediate further comment by the appearance of the waiter with our next course. That turned out to be Morel mushrooms with Chervil Flan and minted snap peas with vines. For a while, our mouths were filled with food instead of words. We hadn't quite finished that delicious repast when the next wine arrived, a Vintage 1955 Chateau d' arche Lafaouire Tere Grande Cru Casse Sauternes. It was superb! John picked up his story. "Where was I? Oh, yes, our meeting on the beach. Surfing's in my blood now--that's what I was doing on the beach in the first place--catching early morning waves and then simply sunning and girl watching. I can't see any real change in my surfing interests--for now. Later, who knows." We were finishing the wine when the next course arrived. we were served sage wrapped Foie Gras with King Bolete mushrooms, sage blossoms, and currants. Close behind came the next wine, vintage 1950 Chateau Lapinesse Barsac. I looked at John with hooded eyes over the rim of my wine glass. Tongue-in-cheek, I said in a rather husky tone, "My but you've gone to rather extreme measures to get me drunk and seduce me on this first date, haven't you now." "It's a celebration, Jen." "A celebration? Of what, John?" "Why our first meeting of course, not to mention the start of the rest of our lives together." "Yes," was once again my quiet, simple, one word agreement with him. At that point, the waiter once again made his appearance with our next course. Our new fare was herb smoked Alaskan King Salmon with sorrel sauce, golden beets, and young carrots. John talked about surfing and surf boards while I talked of Miss Swifty until the wine steward returned with the next between course wine which was a Vintage 1955 Sauternes Blanc. We each had a full glass. When the glasses were drained, John asked, "Why don't we take a stroll about the hotel beach and stretch our legs and let some of this dinner settle before we tackle what's left on the menu?" "Excellent idea, John, but I've got to pee first. All this wine, you know!" We both needed the bathroom. Returning to our table, John grabbed the wine bottle and our two glasses. Then we set off for our leisurely stroll, albeit, a slightly wobbly one. We drank some, strolled some, kissed some, groped some, then started all over again. We managed to struggle back to our table about three quarters of an hour later. At the table, we were immediately served with a sorbet of Douglas fir which was then followed by another entree. That new entree consisted of lavender grilled squab with Bing cherries, roasted Walla Walla onions, broccoli raab, rosemary mashed potatoes, and braised garlic shoot. While we enjoyed all that new food, I told John about the disembodied voices I'd heard in the hall outside my suite. "Yes, this old lady (the hotel) is said to be haunted by ghosts of residents of the past. I heard the story from an 'old timer' I met one time in this hotel bar. As long as I kept supplying the drinks, he kept talking." "Lucky you, John." "Yes. Well, in any event, I think he said the hotel was opened in 1933 as the Lady Windemere. It was intended as an exclusive, secluded hideaway for VIP's and other members of Los Angeles's upper social registry. Mistresses were still popular." "Did you ever keep a mistress here, John?" "No, but I might consider it now." "Oh really?" I chided. "Yes, well anyway, the hotel featured an ocean front verandah, just perfect for martinis,. There was also jazz music and a stage for notorious figures such as Bugsy Seigal the gangster and actors such as Fatty Arbuckle not to mentionthe likes of Clark Gable and Carol Lombard." "Good grief, what a combination--gangsters and movie stars. But then, I guess that's still the case elsewhere. Isn't Frank Sinatra, among others, supposed to have gang connections?" "Couldn't tell you about that, for sure, Jen. But back to the story of the hotel. It was considered right up-to-to-date and modern with its offerings of a beauty parlor, barber shop, playground, dining room, and a most popular speak-easy, one of the first in L. A." "You said it was secluded. I don't see much around but open beach. How is that, 'secluded'?" "You talk about now. In 1933, the hotel was built in the then heavily wooded shoreline of the then little-known seaside community of Santa Monica--viola--seclusion and the hotel became a very popular hideaway for pleasure as intended." "Who ran the place back then?" "One Rosamond Borde was the owner and manager. It was her discriminating manner, her daring, and her ability as a progressive entrepreneur that was so popular with the elite of Los Angeles." "So, what happened to this happy little establishment and arrangement?" When prohibition finally ended and expansion dramatically occurred in the 1950's, Los Angeles began to truly develop into a major metropolitan center that continues up through today. It was during that same decade of the fifties that the Lady Windemere was sold, refurbished, and renamed the Georgian." "That's an interesting history. But where do the ghosts come into the picture?" "Well..." John began, but was interrupted once more by the wine steward. The new wine was a Vintage 1947 Chateau D' Angludet Haut Meoc. As the wine steward retreated and we sipped the new wine, Jonn continued, "Slowly, stories began to surface from hotel staff and a few guests about incidents with ghosts." "Ghost of whom, John?" "I'm coming to that Jen. Ghosts of former guests, famous or infamous Actually, as the ghosts themselves are rarely reported to be seen, it's more the voices that are more often heard with no bodily apparition around." "Like my experience outside my suite." "Yes." "I'm told that the ghosts and/or their voices are most often heard in or close to the old hotel's speakeasy restaurant. Running footsteps throughout a supposedly empty former speakeasy is the most reported phenomenon So you see, Jen, you're not alone in having ghost experiences here in the hotel or in those other examples you told me about." Our latest wine interlude ended with the end of the ghost story. It was then time for watercress, radish, and mache salad with quillisascut, ash-coated goat cheese, and a thyme cracker. Finally, the last course--dessert. Even I, with my big appetite, was getting filled up. Dessert was a rose petal foam with a single strawberry, strawberry shortcake with bay leaf cream, and a strawberry rose geranium ice cream cone. The final wine of the meal that night was a Vintage 1901 Barbeito Malvazia Madeira. To tell the truth, by that time, I couldn't tell one wine from another. It took a while to drain that last bottle. "Johhhhnnn." "What, babe?" "I want to go back to the beach and go for another swim in the Pacific." "Ok, we can do that tomorrow." "You don't understand, John, I want to go now, right now." Our waiter brought the bill on a silver tray. John laid a credit card on it and the waiter scurried away. When the waiter returned, John signed the credit slip and retrieved his credit card. I didn't want to see what dinner had cost. Those special wines would cost a king's ransom by themselves, let alone the rest of the meal and service. "Done, Jen, let's go to the beach for our midnight swim." Actually, it was closer to three a.m. Near the waterline, we slowly stripped out of our clothes. Neither of us had any reservations or embarrassment in doing so. John did ask me a question though.