Chapter 3
It was mid-July and beautiful weather when we took off in Shaggie's Mustang, a rented car and a rented U-Haul trailer. Anne and I were in Shaggie's car with Shaggy and the drummer, whose name was Stan Stettler. The other two members of the group took the rented car and the trailer. With them was a girl named Shanks. Nobody knew her real name. All we knew was that she was from Denver, Colorado, originally and she fucked like a mink. I discovered much later the reason for her popularity. She used to love to get banged by four guys at once. One up her cunt, one up her ass, one in her mouth and one in her hand.
"That," Shaggy once said to me, "is an economical groupy. She can take the whole band on between sets. She's four pieces of tail all wrapped up into one."
I don't know about the other carload, but in Shaggie's car, the four of us were drunk with the weather. It was the clearest day I remember. The sun shone brightly but it wasn't excruciatingly hot. In fact, it was an absolutely perfect day for driving. With the windows down and the wind spinning through the car, the four of us sang and laughed up to North Bay, then set out on the Trans Canada for the long trip to Vancouver. The steady vibrations of the car soon put Stan and me to sleep in the back seat. I didn't wake up until we reached Port Arthur and the thing that woke me up was a finger inching its way up the leg of my panties.
"Who's that knocking at my door?" I sang out in a sleepy voice.
"It's me, it's me, I'm home from the sea," returned Stan, giving me a sharp pain in the groin by pulling a pinch of cunt hair.
"Ouch, you mother fucker," I screeched and drove my fist at his balls. Stan jumped back, pulling up his knees with great reflex action, then shot out a right hand that seized hold of my left tit with a viselike grip.
"I have you in my ancient Chinese wrestling hold," said Stan, grinning and squeezing simultaneously, "the boobie strangle!" He began to twist slightly, but like a fool he let down his guard and in a flash I had a fleshy fistful of testicles. For a few moments, each of us dared the other to squeeze, but neither of us was that foolhardy. Realizing it was a draw, we converted our respective grips into fondles and massaged each other gently.
Stan came alive immediately. His prick began to swell under his pants until it threatened to burst through the material. I leaned over to give him access to the clasp on the back of my brassiere and, while in that position, took hold of the top of his zipper. As I eased it down, the riches of his manhood were revealed to me in all their splendor. First, the broad shaft of his cock presented itself like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. With a little help from me, the meaty head popped out of its hiding place and, with its new-found freedom, pushed upward toward Stan's navel. With my left hand, I undid the clasp on his pants. With my right, I pulled out the silky, wrinkled ball sac and spread it out before me. The testicles themselves were reacting to my touch by moving around of their own accord. I suppose they were trying to get into a fucking position, but I stopped them dead in their tracks by popping the right one into my mouth and sucking on it. Stan was in an obvious state of advanced stimulation. He had an erection the likes of which I had never seen on him before. It was as hard as steel and it bumped against my ear with every beat of his heart. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small drop of semen appear at the end of that throbbing hard-on. It glistened reddish in the setting sun-a truly beautiful sight, but unfortunately I had no time to sit there and admire it. In his state, Stan could have ejaculated at any second. I deftly wriggled out of my panties and swung my leg over him. In a crouching position, I inserted his cock between the lips of my cunt and lowered myself down onto it. It went deep.
With my head buried in his neck, I began to life and lower my rear end in a deliberate rhythm. Stan cooperated by tilting his pelvis to get the maximum depth out of each thrust. As both of us were nearing climaxes, I felt the car come to a stop but I was too preoccupied with the sinewy cock that was snuggling up against the wall of my uterus to pay much attention. Our movements got more frantic and therefore less coordinated, causing Stan at one point to slip out of my slippery cunt and skid off at an angle, parallel to his stomach. I quickly lifted up my dress to help him get back on course and it was then that I noticed the busful of people gawking at us through the window. A city busful of people watching us fuck and grinning like a lot of nitwits, drooling like retards and giggling, flattening their noses against the windows of the bus and ogling Stan's slimy cock that was sticking into my cunt.
As I saw it, we had only two possible choices, to stop and look like a couple of fools until the light changed and we could pull away, or to go right on screwing.
"Is that right?" said Stan in a cocky voice when I told him about the busload of people who were watching us. "Well, let them have a good view." He lifted my dress up higher and pulled his prick out just a little so the citizens of Port Arthur would not have to use any imagination and then, with exaggerated movements, we fucked until the light turned green.
We were just pulling away from the bus when I felt Stan blow his load into my cunt and we both broke up with laughter. In the front seat, Anne was sucking Shaggy.
"Were you doing that while the bus was sitting there?"
Anne disengaged herself to answer my question. "Of course! We wouldn't let a few spectators ruin our fun." The thought of patrons of the Port Arthur Transit System enjoying not just one spicy show, but a double feature, caused more laughter. I was convinced this was the only real fun I'd ever had in my life. Although it seemed longer, it was only two weeks before that I had lost my virginity and now here I was fucking in front of a whole busful of people. How strange life is! How quickly human beings change! It makes me laugh when stupid people try to peg everybody they meet. They can't stand to know someone unless they can immediately put him or her into a specific category. A few months ago these people would have put me into the category of wholesome, religious girl. Yet here I was, fucking in front of at least twenty people. You see, you can't always put people into rigid categories because they will always prove you wrong. People change too fast to be labeled. That's part of what the youth revolution is all about, I think. Kids today know how silly it is to put name tags on people as though they were some kind of merchandise. The human being is the only animal that makes up his own nature as he goes along and people like my parents would do well to remember that. Fucking and sucking are part of human nature simply because humans do it, and ignoring it as my parents do is not going to make it go away.
So, anyway, to get back to the story, there was Stan slouched in the seat with his head against the back and his prick still dribbling gunk. Men's pricks are funny, you know. They go at each fuck as though it's to be their last. They are as hard as bone and as proud as lions when they start, then they fuck themselves into limp, sickly flesh. They don't save anything for later. Maybe there's a lesson in that, maybe we should live each day as though there won't be any more to follow.
"Your underpants are going to be a mess when you put your cock away," I said.
"I'm not putting him away, at least not just yet!"
"No?"
"No. You're going to clean him off before I do. That's one of your duties."
I didn't kick. "I'm doing this for my poor old mother. She doesn't have a sex organ you know," I said, adjusting my position to get my tongue on Stan's prick. "No, all she's got is a third armpit between her legs. She shaves the hair and puts deodorant on it. She has to piss through her asshole, poor broad, and she can't even get fucked in the fanny because her shithole is a one-way valve. So the only sex she gets is from her girdle which she subconsciously buys a size too small so that it will masturbate her while she walks."
"No wonder she was pissed off when she found sperm in your panties!" said Stan, lazily rolling his testicles between my fingers so I could get to them.
"Pissed off!" said I. "She damn near burst a gut. I don't know how the hell she knew it was sperm. I'm sure she's never seen any before. It must have been a lucky guess."
"I bet she hasn't washed them yet," Stan suggested. "She probably sneaks off into a dark corner every night and sniffs them deliriously."
"Maybe she rubs them under her arms or up her ass," Anne added.
"Maybe she puts them under her pillow at night and hopes the good fairy will come and fuck her in her sleep when her resistance is low," Shaggy kept the ball rolling.
"Maybe she ate them," I concluded.
When Stan's prick was clean it was stuffed unceremoniously back whence it came and we pulled over at a restaurant for something to eat.
The dinner time went without incident so I won't bother writing about it, but we hadn't been on the road again but an hour when something interesting happened, something I consider worth telling.
We were whizzing along at about seventy-five miles per hour. Stan was driving and I was sitting beside him in the front seat. We passed an old hitchhiker and I shouted to Stan to give him a lift. Stan slammed on the brakes and backed up to let him in. He was an Indian, dressed virtually in rags and reeking of fish. He thanked us for picking him up, but he appeared to be more than a little apprehensive about riding with four teen-agers.
After the pleasantries had been performed, there was total silence in the car for several miles until Anne took it upon herself to say what all of us had been wanting to say since the old beggar had dropped himself into the back seat.
"You stink of fish," she observed adroitly, but seeing him cringe in embarrassment she took pity. "Don't get upset. It's the truth but I'm not knocking you. I must smell of something, too, don't I? Well?"
The old Indian mumbled something deliberately unintelligible. He looked out the window to avoid our eyes.
"Well, come on, speak up. I want to know what I stink of!" Anne coaxed.
"Perfume," the old Indian slurred shooting frightened glances at Anne and me.
"Of course," bellowed Anne, "Indians don't use perfume, do they? Therefore, it must stink to you. So go ahead and say it. Say, 'You stink of perfume.' Say it!"
"You stink of perfume," the old Indian managed to get out.
"Right, and you stink of fish."
"And you stink of perfume."
"You stink of fish and I stink of perfume. There, you see," smiled Anne, "now we have an understanding and that's the basis of human communication. Understanding, right?"
"Right," said the old Indian. "You stink of perfume and I stink of fish. Understand?"
"Understand . . . ing!"
"Understand . . . ing!"
"Right!" There was a brief silence during which Shaggy farted. Then Anne addressed the old Indian again. "What do you do for a living?"
"You stink ..."
"No, I want to know how you make your living. How do you make money?" "I fish." "You fish."
"You perfume." And the old Indian laughed until tears rolled down his sagging cheeks.
"Hey, you're all right. What's your name?" asked Anne, rather intrigued as we all were with our wrinkled passenger.
"Charlie," replied Charlie. He was loosening up now and beaming a broad smile to each of us around the car. When no one was speaking, he giggled to fill in the gaps.
Anne, who hadn't slept since we left, excused herself from any further conversation and slipped off her shoes. When she lay back against Shaggy, she found that the shorts she was wearing were too tight around the waist so she unfastened the button and slid the zipper down halfway. I guess it was this that gave her the idea. Looking over at Charlie, she caught him giving her long, young legs the eye.
"Do you like my legs?" she inquired, with a coquettish grin. She ran her fingers lightly up and down her thighs, waiting for the old Indian to answer. He didn't. "Would you like to see more of them? Right up to here?" She slipped the palm of her hand over her crotch. Charlie's wise old eyes bounded round in their sockets nervously. He didn't know whether to shit or wind his watch, as the saying goes.
Lifting one side of her rump, then the other, Anne worked her shorts and underpants out from under her, then pushed them to the floor of the car. Lifting her right leg and straightening it out in front of Charlie, she coaxed him to examine it.
"You can even touch it if you like. Do you want to touch it?"
Shaggy and Stan and I encouraged him and finally he extended his hard, cracked hand and wrapped it gently around Anne's slim ankle. His mouth was frozen in a grin and his teeth were clenched together. A giggle gurgled in his throat. He was reluctant to give in to his instincts and I think he was worried that we might be setting a trap for him.
"Bring your hand further up to my knee," Anne directed. A handful of calluses scraped along her smooth, soft limb to the knee. There is nothing so tender as an oaf at a time like this. Charlie handled Anne as if she were a potato chip. Only when Anne gave him the go-ahead with her eyes did he allow his ancient hand to pursue its course along the shank to the furry V, the pleasure pit, the forest of love, or as he himself so aptly put it, the cunt.
"You let old Charlie fuck you?" "If he wants to."
Old Charlie undid his belt, his buttons, his fly, wiggled his fishy frame out of his baggy trousers and sported an erection far more youthful than himself. It was as straight as an arrow and as hard as a hatchet.
"Redskin fuck palefaced cunt. Make palefaced cunt red," Charlie grunted waving his Indian prick in the air.
"Paleface cunt fuck redskin cock, bring paleface gunk out of hole," said Anne, sliding into position atop the panting anachronism.
"Paleface fuck ..." His words collapsed into a heavy sigh. Anne had sucked up his prick into her hot, tight cunt and he was speechless.
"Tuck it in, Anne baby," chimed Stan trying to get a peek in the rear-view mirror.
"Fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im," said Shaggy from his ringside seat beside the fornicating couple. Stan and I joined in and it became a chant.
"Fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im." It was a monotonous beat like that of Indian war drums. Stan and I joined in and it became a chant. Stan thumped his hand on the steering wheel while Shaggy and I stamped the floor in rhythm. Charlie slipped it in and out, in and out, in and out. Anne bounced up and down, up and down, up and down.
We took our cues from old Charlie. As his climax approached, his breathing became shallow and rapid like the thrusts of his stiff cock.
"Fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im, fuck 'im."
Anne wagged her tail back and forth, around and around, exposing every crack and crevice of her cunt to Charlie's thrashing phallus. Her vaginal walls hugged the bloated head of it and sucked at the arched shaft, cajoling the semen to gush forth. It did. And her cunt drank from the old fountain.
We let the old Indian out the next morning in Kenora, where we stopped for breakfast. He only said good-bye, but there was a twinkle in his eye which had not been there when we picked him up. I think Anne was proud of herself for having given him a piece of tail and quite frankly, I don't blame her. It was a nice gesture! He was evidently older than my parents, but at the same time he was younger. Maybe that had something to do with his Indian philosophy. I suspect it did.
After breakfast, we drove for what seemed to be a very short time before crossing over into the province of Manitoba. There was a special kind of tickle in my stomach at the thought of leaving Ontario. I hoped right then I would never see it again except in passing through. As it happened, I got my wish. All I have seen of Ontario since then has been from a car or train window.
"Roll up the windows for a second," said Stan, who was in the back seat again beside me. Shaggy and Anne complied without question but I, who was getting considerable enjoyment from the breeze, wanted to know why.
"Don't ask any questions," ordered Stan breaking open one of his filter cigarettes and shaking the tobacco into the palm of his hand. I rolled up my window.
"What are you doing?" I asked, watching Stan fiddle with cigarette papers, tobacco and a little package of what looked like dirt.
"I'm rolling a joint, my dear."
"A joint?"
"A joint."
"You mean marijuana?"
"I don't mean milkweed!" he shot back.
When the crude-looking cigarette was finished, Stan lit it up and passed it around to the rest of us. He went to great length to instruct Anne and me how to smoke it for the maximum effect. When the first drag of hot smoke hit my lungs, I had to fight down a cough. Stan had told us that once you start coughing with this stuff, you can't stop. He said that if you could get past the first few drags without choking, you'd be all right.
Following Stan's instructions to a tee, Anne and I inhaled our fair share and when the joint was finally all smoked out, we lay back just as Stan told us to do. Immediately I felt my cheeks flushing. My body tickled all over and my head seemed a bit tight. I was assailed by a strange sense of humor. Everything I looked at, everything that was said and everything I thought about was funny. The four of us giggled. We laughed and giggled until I thought I would rupture my stomach. And you know I cannot remember one single thing that we laughed about. I'm sure nothing we said or did was that funny. It was just that the whole world was a big, stupid joke, an absurdity. We laughed until I felt faint, and all merely for the sake of laughter. Since then I have come to the conclusion that in this cruel world, only saints, fools and heads can laugh for the sake of laughing. Head, of course, is the slang term for someone who smokes grass. So, there we were, breezing along the highway, four insignificant people in a fleeting moment of time, enjoying life as we had never enjoyed it before, laughing because we were unable to talk and unable to talk because we were laughing. We were only a couple of miles east of a small Manitoba town, Portage la Prairie.
"Let's give the citizens of Portage la Prairie three full moons," Stan roared above the hysterical giggling in the car.
"What's a full moon?" Anne and I asked almost simultaneously.
Pulling his shirt up and his pants down, Stan turned himself around and flattened his bare ass against the window of the car.
"That's a full moon," he explained. Anne and I practically threw up with laughter.
The town was in sight. We prepared ourselves and waited, our guts knotted with excitement. Up ahead there were several people on both sides waiting to cross the road. Shaggy slowed down to give them a good view and when he gave us the signal, three heads disappeared and three white asses popped up to smile through the glass at the unsuspecting bystanders.
"Perfect!" shouted Shaggy, braking and pulling into a drive-in restaurant. "Let's go back and take another run at it."
By the time we got back to the same spot in the highway, there was only one middle-aged woman standing on Stan's side and nobody on ours. Stan lifted himself and thrust his pelvis up to the window, then with the old broad looking right at him, he wagged his cock through the glass at her asking her if she wanted to suck it. The old woman threw her hands in the air and shrieked as though she'd seen a monster. She ran around in small circles looking for someone to tell. That's typical of stupid old bitches like that. They pretend to be disgusted, but can't wait to tell everybody what it is they're disgusted with. That's the way they get their kicks, I guess, but if you ask me it's a lot sicker than the way I get mine.
Shaggy turned the car around at a gas station and we drove back down the highway. The old bitch was still there. She had managed to snare some poor bastard in a business suit and was dragging him over to the side of the road.
"Here they come again. Here they come again!" we could hear her shouting as we approached slowly. When we were right beside her and the unfortunate businessman she had apprehended, Stan sprang from nowhere and presented his genitalia once again for her inspection. This time I grabbed it and wagged it at her.
"There, you see. You see!" she was shouting at the man beside her. "You see what I told you. Those filthy little beasts!" As we pulled away at a snail's pace, she ran alongside the car, shaking her finger and bellowing at us.
"You'll go to hell-the lot of you!" she warned as I opened my mouth and pushed Stan's prick inside. I sucked on it deliciously. She was looking straight at my mouth as she jogged along the side of the road, screaming, crying and waving her hands in the air like a religious maniac, and licking her lips. Yes, she was licking her lips like a hungry dog in front of a raw steak. What a hypocritical old swine!
I spat out Stan's cock and rolled down the window. "You cuntless sow. You're just dying to suck a cock, aren't you?" I blasted as Shaggy stepped down heavily on the accelerator and we sped off, leaving her to lecture the wind. She had condemned us to hell, to misery after death. But it was evident even to her I suspect, that she had condemned herself to misery on earth and that is far worse. Envy-that was her real hang-up. She couldn't stand to see people doing what she had never had the guts to do. That's the way it is with all moralists. They hate the thought that they may be leading a meaningless life for nothing. They want other people to suffer with them, figuring that if they can get enough people to do it, it must be right. Poor idiots! At that time I hated them but now I only pity them. Their entire lives are passive and reactionary-a waste of time!
Most of the rest of the trip was uneventful. Shaggy asked us not to fuck any more in the car because he didn't want to get semen all over the seats. There were shot spots already on the carpets, probably from the old Indian, and they are very difficult to get out. So we confined our activities to playing silly games and sleeping until we arrived in Calgary. Then we did make up for it!
Stan bought a bottle of vodka and we all sat in the car and drank. When the bottle was half-gone and we were all feeling its effects, Stan and I decided to go to a show. Shaggy wasn't interested so he and Anne went off to try to get into some bars to continue their drinking. Stan and I took the remaining half-bottle of vodka, or wodka, as we called it, and went to a show. The movie we decided to see was called Becket and it starred Peter O'Toole and Richard Burton, two of my favorite actors. Actually the film was made, I think, a couple of years earlier, but neither Stan nor I had seen it. What I saw of it was good, but we had to leave rather hastily about halfway through. This is how it happened.
Even before we got to the show we were feeling no pain. After all, we had had our fair share of the booze and we were not great drinkers. So, anyway, when we went into the theater we bought two large soft drinks and Stan stole a couple of extra paper cups. We took seats in the back row and settled in to enjoy the movie and the drinking. While watching the movie, I kept my left hand in Stan's lap where no one could see it and played absent-mindedly with his cock and balls. It was just as Thomas Becket was being made Archbishop of Canterbury that Stan leaned over and whispered in my ear.
"Suck me off, Susan," he slurred into my ear. He was quite drunk by this time.
"Don't be an idiot," I whispered back.
"Susan, suck me off!" he insisted, his whisper getting a bit louder.
"Stan, that's ridiculous. I can't suck you off here. Even if I could, I wouldn't. I'm trying to watch the movie."
"Susan, suck me off!"
"Shut up, for Chrissake!"
"If you don't suck me off, I'll masturbate."
"If you do, I'll pretend I don't even know you."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him undo his fly and fish around drunkenly for his penis. Sure enough, he brought it out. "Stan," I whispered rather loudly, "don't be an idiot. Put it away."
"Suck it!" He was getting insistent. I began to realize that maybe he was a hell of a lot drunker than I had suspected. He might just be serious. I leaned over to him and enunciated precisely into his ear.
"Stan, if you put him away until the movie's over, I promise I'll give you a suck you'll never forget. I'll suck your cock and your balls too, okay?"
"Suck me now or I'll masturbate," he muttered dropping his chin to his chest and slipping the foreskin back and forth along his erection. It was then that I made the mistake of thinking he was just showing off. I decided to ignore him, hoping he would fall asleep so I could enjoy the movie. But he didn't fall asleep. Instead, he took his hard prick between his thumb and forefinger and stretched the foreskin along the length of it. He was really whacking, right there in the goddamn show, beside me. I tried to stop him without attracting the attention of the people around us, but he was determined to carry out his threat. His hand was moving a mile a minute, up and down along the reddening shaft of his hard-on. His whole body was flexed and he was holding his breath. When I attempted to cover his prick with my hand, he bumped me away violently. By now several people had caught on to what he was doing and were ignoring the screen entirely to stare with delight at the masturbating fool beside me. I tried to reason with him.
"Stan, think of all the good juice you're wasting. Shouldn't you save that for me?" But he was deaf to my plea. He brought his knees up against the seat in front of him to get a better whacking position. Whenever I got too close, he beat me with his whacking hand without even breaking the rhythm of his strokes. I knew that if he were allowed to continue for only a few more seconds, we'd really be in trouble. There'd be jism all over the place, mostly on me, I figured, and I didn't want that! I took one last dive at his groin hoping to be able to arrest his activity and calm him down, but unfortunately I was too slow. A great blob of semen shot past my face, over the shoulder of the woman in front of me and SPLAT, dead in her lap. Two more quick ones followed, one slapping her in the ear and the other hitting the brim of her hat and dripping down onto her shoulder. She obviously didn't know what it was until she turned around and saw Stan's big prick staring her in the face. It was losing power by that time, shooting smaller drops of semen against the back of her seat. The woman was mortified. At first she just gawked with her mouth open. Even in the middle of all that, I couldn't help thinking how funny it would have been if Stan had been able to blast a nice gob into her gaping mouth. But then she collected herself and screamed her bloody head off, smashing at Stan's organ with her purse. Of course by this time I had torn my humble self from the seat and was in the aisle sprinting for the door. Once outside, I hid in a doorway and waited for Stan. He made it. I was there only seconds when Stan barged through the door like a bronco coming out of the chute. In the process he knocked the manager and the doorman off their respective feet. His wang was still hanging out and slapping against his pant leg, dribbling sperm droppings onto his trousers and shoes.
He tucked himself away on the run and together we must have set some kind of Olympic record. We didn't stop until we got to the car. In the back seat we collapsed in a fit of laughter.
We were asleep when Shaggy and Anne returned. We told them about our escapade and they told us about theirs, which was exciting but not nearly so beautifully absurd as ours. They apparently wound up in a bar that had a live band. With quite a few drinks under his belt, Shag got up and seized an electric guitar from one of the musicians. Before the guy could get it back, Shaggy was playing a tune that everybody in the place dug. When the owner saw how much his customers liked Shaggy's music, he told the band to let him play for a while. Then Anne got up on the stage and started to do some very suggestive dancing. She had never taken dancing lessons or anything like that, but Anne really knew how to be sexy, you know what I mean? She really knew how to make men squirm without ever putting her hands on them. Anyway, Anne was doing this dance and Shaggy was pounding out this fantastic beat on the guitar, then Anne started to take off her clothes. She got right down to her bra and panties before the owner stopped her. It sounded like a lot of fun. Then apparently the owner offered the two of them a permanent job at the bar. Naturally they refused. All in all, it was a night to remember for all of us.
We didn't spend the night in Calgary. As soon as we had finished telling our stories, we got back out on the Trans Canada and headed west. Stan drove and I sat in the front with him. Shaggy and Anne slept until the sun came up. All night Stan complained of the dry sperm in his pants and how it itched. He repeated over and over that it was his own fault and that was about the extent of our conversation.
When the sun came up we were well into the foothills of the Rockies. The feeling of being surrounded on all sides by these utterly unbelievable mountains was enough to take my breath away. I mean that literally. On more than one occasion I found myself puffing for air. That's how overawed I was by the Rockies.
When Shaggy and Anne woke up they took over for Stan and me. I spent the next hour just gazing out the window at the mountain peaks. I had a strange desire to fuck on top of the highest mountain snow-the idea was fascinating. When I told Stan, he made a joke about it, of course. He said, "The way I felt last night, I would have been more than satisfied to fuck the mountain."
I didn't laugh very much, nor did I talk. I was in a dreamy mood. The mountains had done something strange to me. Somehow they seemed to be calling me. I don't know how to explain what I felt, but it was as if the mountains represented my freedom. Even though we had been traveling for some time, I felt that I hadn't really been free from the bond of my parents, society, in fact the whole of my past, until now! That is, until I met the Rockies.
A feeling that I had not had since I was a little child, a feeling that I used to get when I knew I was going to a fair or when I knew I was going downtown to buy new clothes or a doll, a light, tickling sensation came to me that day in the car. It settled in my abdomen. It was a feeling of anticipation, of true happiness. Reluctantly, I gave in to the weight on my eyelids and slowly subsided into a wonderful sleep and dreamt of greatness, because I felt great.
When I woke up, we were just outside Vancouver. Anne and I were just about pissing our pants with excitement. We couldn't get over the fact that we were actually going to live here for a few weeks, our parents over three thousand miles away. The boys were excited too, but not like us. They'd been to Vancouver before, several times, and knew their way around. Anyway, they wouldn't have let on even if they were as excited as we were. Boys are like that for some reason.
When we arrived in Vancouver, we went straight to the hotel. The rooms were booked in advance and to my surprise there were no questions asked about whether or not we were married or how old we were or anything like that. We were given the key to Room 301 and went straight up. Room 302 was booked for the rest of the group, but they hadn't arrived yet. Shaggy told me that all the groups and their groupies stayed at this particular hotel because the management made it a policy not to interfere with the activities of the people staying there.
So everything was perfect. We'd be in Vancouver for about two weeks and then, who knows where we'd be going. This was the life, full of fun, fuck and frolic and no responsibilities but to yourself. That's the way it should be.
Anne and I were so excited we didn't know where to start, but Stan did. He dragged us off to the bathroom, where we fucked in the shower. Believe it or not, it was the first time I had ever fucked standing up and I must say, it was one of the best I've ever had. With the hard spray of the shower splashing down from the top and Stan's thick prick driving up from the underneath, a very powerful sensation grew in me until I exploded in the most violent climax I've ever had. It was lovely. Stan pulled his prick out just before his orgasm for some reason, then shot the sperm all over my stomach and into my navel. We played with it quietly for a few minutes before I washed it down the drain. Even that was enjoyable in some strange way. It really is fun to fuck in the shower. If you haven't tried it you should.