Chapter 4

Tongue River was beautiful. I'd seen the Sierras in California and the Rockies in southern Colorado, but the country along that river in Oregon was really nice, farmhouses standing here and there, timber coming down to the river in places and elsewhere hovering back along the ridges. Once in a while a wide field had been cleared for alfalfa or some other kind of feed and maybe a few cows stood out in it like angels that had found what they needed for heaven.

The highway was full of curves and I had to watch out because every so often u logging truck would come busting around a blind corner, bowling over anything dumb enough to be going slow on the road. I made sure I did not linger in any blind corners. The pear orchards were located almost entirely along some narrow flats that reached for about ten miles back along a creek that fed into the river. Aside from the pears, nearly all the rest of the economy depended on logging and beer halls. It was a real country place, back woods and all.

I wasn't paying much attention to anything except staying out of the way of logging trucks when I saw the three girls. My mind didn't react to them until I had passed around a bend, so I had to turn around and go back, then turn around again and pull up at a wide spot in the road so I could sit and watch them.

One wore a solid blue suit with a little skirt attached to the bottom, but the other two, possibly sisters, wore identical red bikinis. The girls in the bikinis looked a lot alike, both with long straight hair.

I lit a cigarette and smoked slowly, the cigarette in my left hand, my elbow resting on the window ledge. The day was hot, the sun clear and golden and bright in a pale blue sky.

A semi-truck-trailer loaded with logs approached from ahead of me, boring down the river road to the mill downstream. It whined past, the husky driver using the truck's compression to save the brakes, and my light Ford quivered for a second or two as the vacuum sucking behind the trailer passed me.

Then the highway was deserted again and I sat still, smoked slowly on my steadily-diminishing cigarette, and watched the girls.

They splashed each other with the cold water from the mountain stream. Their laughing voices carried across the river to me. It was idyllic, a scene that a guy lost on a desert island might dream up, or even exiled to a lonely farm town, I added with a wry grin. All the scene needed for improvement was for the girls to strip off their suits, and call me down to join them.

The one with the blue suit was the plainest of the three. Her hair was cut short and she seemed shyest in the water. The two that I took for sisters were gorgeous, though; they jumped up and down in the water, laughed and squealed and splashed.

A farmhouse stood on a ridge just downstream from where the girls were playing. Two or three Chinese elms shaded the house from the sun, and alfalfa fields reached across the flats to the foothills that ended the valley on the far side. Lines of sprinklers extended for what seemed to be a mile or more back from the river.

I was surprised that two of the girls would be in bikinis. I had thought that farmer's daughters would be more shy about their bodies, but suddenly I remembered another farmer's daughter, Lisa, and how when my hand slid between her legs she had been moist and open and willing. I would have gone down to the river to talk with the girls and joke with them, but I'd have had to stand beside a roaring tumble of water and shouting at them would have been awkward as hell. I wasn't too far from the town of Tongue River as it was, and I thought if I was lucky maybe one of the girl's fathers would have a pear orchard tucked away in one of the canyons and I'd get to visit him to buy his pears and I could joke with his daughter then.

One of the sisters climbed out of the water, shook her long hair over the gravel embankment. As she leaned over, her hair nearly touched the ground. The others climbed out of the water. The shy one had her short hair curling around her ears and the back of her neck. They picked up towels and rubbed themselves. They began climbing the bank toward the farmhouse.

I pushed down three times quickly on the horn rim.

All three looked back quickly, saw the car across the river. The sisters waved, but the one in the blue suit was shy about that too. But finally she waved, as if she wanted to but was reluctant.

I waved back.

As they climbed the bank I imagined them as three deer climbing out of the river cut. I imagined following their progress through a telescopic sight of my .06. I imagined that I found them too lovely to shoot. I also imagined myself finding them in the woods and the pleasures they could give me, and the shyness, the hesitancy that the one in the blue suit would show and how she might come to me with her head down but joy flirting around the edges of her mouth.

And I also imagined myself trying to make love to them and coming before I even got my cock out of my pants. I imagined the shy one taking my pants down as I watched the sisters stripping and I could easily imagine come pouring out of my prick before they even touched it and when they lay down, ready for me, I imagined myself going as soft as a worn-out glove.

Well, I thought, enough is enough. To my right, on the side of the highway opposite the river, stands of pine trees clustered here and there, became gradually thicker as the ground rose to become a mountain range. I lit another cigarette and started the motor.

I felt comfortable driving along, but soon I finished the cigarette and didn't light another. The smoke had dried my mouth and made me thirsty. The girls had given me a hard-on, and I wanted them to come back to the river and I wanted to get out of the car to walk down to the water's edge for a drink and strike up a conversation, and then maybe my exile into the farmer's wilderness wouldn't be as unpleasant as I had worried that it might be. I wished I had gone down to the river to talk to them.

Pretty soon I stopped the car at another wide spot and climbed down some tumbled rocks to the river to get a drink. I kneeled in the gravel and drank right out of the cold stream that had gathered high in the mountains from springs hidden deep in limestone, but when I had my fill I wasn't satisfied. I knew then why I had had to come down to the river, why I had wanted to get away from the road.

I looked up the bank and couldn't see the road, or my car. I moved a few yards upstream, where the gravel bank gave way to a mound of earth overgrown with berry brush and cheat grass. Checking in all directions to see if anybody was in sight, if there was anyplace where some fisherman could surprise me, if there was a chance that a logger heading down the highway could see me; I made damn sure that I was alone and would not be surprised, or seen, or embarrassed, except by myself.

It's a terrible thing for a guy, when there are so many girls around who would like to be screwed, to have to do things for himself because he just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I had to do something because I could think of nothing but Lisa back home, the three girls in the river, Bess as she lay down on her couch, and the transient girl as she lay with her legs spread out after I fucked her, one foot cocked over the back of the couch, her cunt hairs shining with our juices.

Opening my belt, I unbuttoned my Levi's and pushed my shorts down under my balls. My prick stood straight out into the sun.

I remembered how it had looked pushing up and into Bess's bush, how it had glided right into her hole with the insides of her cunt lubricated for it, and I also remembered how I had taken time with the transient's daughter to see it begin to slide up into her, and I remembered how its head had felt squeezed by the virgin walls of Lisa's vagina, nosing against the tissue-thin membrane of her maidenhead.

Now its circumcised head seemed to swell, gained more mushroom proportions. I gently touched it with the ends of my fingers, pretended my hand was Lisa's as my fingers traced around the sensitive skin just below the head. I traced back to my balls with one finger tickling the underside of my shaft, then I circled it with my right fist and jacked hard a few times, squeezed tight around my stiff prick.

My hips convulsed up to my fist and I almost came, so I eased off.

My balls were drawn up tight in their sack. I petted them with my left hand, cradled them in the palm. My pubic hair was thick, black and curly. I was proud of it, and proud also of the hard-on I could get My cock was about eight inches, not as long as some I had heard of, but it was the only one I had so I planned to make the best of it. It was thick, though, and often could get so stiff it would stand almost straight up without any help from me. It was like the masthead of a ship, and could stand at that angle for a long time. When I wanted, I could raise it higher simply by tightening the cheek muscles of my ass.

I had practiced a few times in front of the full-length mirror in my sister's room, having to clean the come off it with bathroom tissue after my cock kissed it's mirror image.

Naturally, I only did that when the rest of the family was somewhere else.

One day my father was out somewhere and Mother decided she needed some stuff from town for the PTA meeting she was presiding over that night and she took my sister Jeannie in with her to help carry the boxes. I knew I'd have at least an hour alone to myself in the house, so when I got tired of watching TV I decided to see how my muscles were growing. I was fifteen at the time, and it was two years before Bess found me and rescued me from a life of masturbation.

I had inspected myself in Jeannie's mirror before, but I had always worn something, so at first I just took off my shirt and stood there in my Levi cut-offs. I flexed the muscles of my right arm, then my left. I posed like the Great John L., flexed the muscles of both arms at the same time, then struck up a boxing pose, switched to the other side and struck the same pose.

I was well-built for fifteen, and had a faint line of hair already leading from my belly-button down into the top of my cut-offs. I sucked in my already tight stomach and my cut-offs slid down a little, resting on my hips. The hair below my belly-button got a little thicker. I never wore underpants in those days and I knew I was naked under my cut-offs. My prick began to stir just a little, got a little hard down there, filling with blood, a phenomenon I understood since I had paid attention to that part of health class. I got the idea of seeing if I could push my cut-offs down without unbuttoning them. I could.

First the hair got thicker just over my crotch, and the cut-offs hung up a little where my ass swelled, but still I pulled them down tight over my ass, then they were past that and went easily down to my knees, then down in a heap around my ankles.

I stood naked in front of the mirror.

My prick rose like magic, the head swelling, the shaft becoming like a thick iron rod. I forgot about my muscles and stared at what was happening out of my crotch. I wasn't really surprised since I'd had a lot of hard-ons, but I never really knowingly had jacked off or even considered it much, though I had had a few orgasms, usually like wet dreams.

But this time my prick rose up out of my young crotch and took control and my hand went right to it and started stroking and before I knew what was happening I was stretched out on Jeannie's bed writhing back and forth, stark naked, throwing my legs up and down, sprawling over her pillows, rubbing my cock over her sheets, and in general embarrassing myself but completely unable to control what was going on. My prick really took charge, and if Jeannie had been home I'm afraid I'd have done something terrible to her. She was two years older than me and a great sport, but she would never have accepted her little brother throwing her on the floor and ramming it to her.

I spread-eagled myself on my stomach, humped her pillows a few times as if they were indeed her and my cock was sliding up her cunt. I lay spread-eagled on my back with both hands around my cock and I pumped my hips up and down fucking my fists.

I was afraid to come on her bed, so I went back to her mirror, stood with my legs apart right in front of it, arched my back and jacked hard on my cock, my left hand squeezing my balls, and I thought that this was how it was going to be when I started fucking girls, and my tightly-squeezed ass thrust itself forward and in the mirror I saw my come shoot hard against the glass and I didn't see anymore because my mouth fell open and my eyes closed as I kept shooting, pumping.

I thought it was funny to be thinking about jacking off when I was jacking off, so I replaced the image of myself in front of Jeannie's mirror with the image of Bess' soapy hand sliding back and forth on my prick and how good it had felt to have a girl finally really holding and squeezing and loving my cock.

I jacked hard, standing there in the brush over the Tongue River, my pants down around my ankles. I fucked into the air, threw my come as far out of me as I could, pumped it over the Oregon mountains.

There was nothing to stop me, and no one to see me, and I enjoyed it, but I regretted coming as soon as I had finished. It was not a good way to find satisfaction, it was lonely, and I wanted nothing more than to have Lisa with me for all three weeks I would be here. I wanted her to come up here and save me from myself. I wanted to be her lover, and I was afraid that I never would be.

If I couldn't wait three weeks to get back to her, then I saw no way for her to be able to wait the same three weeks for me to come home. There were a lot of guys in the valley who would be happy to throw it into her, and with pear season coming up there would be a lot of transient guys and it would be simple for Lisa to pick one, select who for her would be either the best-looking or the one most--likely to be able to succeed with her, and that would be that. Her cherry would be gone by the time I got home, there would be no need of her to use me or my too-anxious prick, and I could stay home and fuck my fist for the rest of my life.

So going down to the river for a drink of water didn't do me any good at all. If anything, it only made me thirstier as I climbed back up the tumbled rocks to the car.