The Hidden Journal, Copyright © 1999, Kellis

The Hitch-hikers

File D9104133.ZEN

Tuesday, March 14, 1972

Girls hitch-hiking, a rare sight! I couldn’t pass them up.

Had two days off for working a solid weekend. Drove up the freeway yesterday to see a telescope being offered as part of an estate liquidation. Put in my bid and started back about 14:30.

They were walking up the on-ramp, two girls in jeans and heavy sweaters, olive drab duffel bags on their shoulders identical to the one I’d carried into Southeast Asia. They were shivering in the March wind, I could see, and their thumbs snapped out eagerly at my approach. No other car was in sight, either on crossroads or freeway, not unusual at that time on a weekday.

I slowed as I neared them. Both sweaters were maroon and thick, but the hatless hairdos were long and neat, faces beardless, eyebrows arched, feet shoved into muddy high-heeled boots — not the cowboy type but the kind I call “walk all over you” from that stupid song. They were young women, possibly girls, close enough to pass muster.

Normally I ignore hitch hikers, except for one in military uniform now and then. Something made an exception for these two, perhaps the wishful thinking of a man pussyless for over a week. Whatever, I stopped the car. Because of my slow speed they didn’t have far to run.

The bags went in the back seat on top of my traveling book collection, girls into the front beside me. The doors slammed and they leaned back, recovering their breath. I let the car sit idling.

The far one was a dirty blonde, the nearer a chestnut color, almost red. Both faces were smooth, both sets of eyes blue, each decorated with the same shade of lipstick, probably sharing the same tube.

The chestnut declared, “Oh, wow, this feels good!” Her body was still quivering, presumably from the cold.

“The heat?” I asked.

“And sitting down.”

“It’s a cold day,” I agreed. “Been waiting long?”

The blonde sniffed. “We never wait long.”

“Unless, you know, there’s no cars,” added the chestnut.

“Somebody turned off here and left you?” I guessed.

“’Bout an hour ago,” said chestnut.

“Most of the cars were women,” said the blonde ridiculously but still sensibly.

“Except one,” said chestnut.

I wondered, “Wouldn’t you have done better to get back on the freeway?”

“He let us off, you know, just before the ramp,” responded chestnut. The blonde added, “All the women turned up their noses but finally a man stopped.”

They were both watching me oddly.

“So why are you still here?” I asked, partly guessing it.

The blonde’s teeth made grinding noises audible above the idling engine. The chestnut pointed out the window behind us. “He pulled off into those woods, made us take a drink and … You know.”

“Know what?”

“He made us, you know, suck him off.”

“He what?”

She sighed. Her lips curled resignedly. “He promised to take us all the way to San Jose.”

“What a crock!” added blondie. “Soon as he shot off he made us get out, right there in the woods, and he drove away.”

The chestnut sighed again. “Oh, wow! It was such a long walk out of those woods!”

Staring at me, the blonde declared with determination, “We aren’t going back in there!”

“We aren’t!” the chestnut agreed, lips a firm line.

The blonde added, “You’ll have to take us someplace else.” Her eyes narrowed. “What’re you waiting for?”

“You say you’re going to San Jose? California, I presume? Or was that just an expression?”

“San Jose,” blondie replied with dignity. “Jobs are waiting for us.”

“Well, I won’t take you to California. But I’ll take you to Route 56, which is just before that city,” I said, pointing to a sign that showed me about 40 miles from home. “There’s a lot of east-west traffic on 56.”

“That would be, you know, real nice,” said chestnut, favoring me with a smile. Emerald pierced ear studs glinted in her ear lobes. Her teeth were white and even. The sweaters were heavy but not the cleanest they’d ever been. Still, somebody had spent money on these girls, at least the chestnut.

When I had the speed back up to my usual 65, I asked to make conversation, “Where are you from?”

Blondie said something I couldn’t hear over the rush of wind. When my eyebrows rose inquiringly, she looked away but spoke louder. “We don’t tell that.”

“You only say where you’re going,” I commented. “Never look back, is that it?”

When they didn’t reply I probed further. “How old are you?”

“Old enough,” snapped blondie.

“Old enough for what?”

“Anything you might want.”

“Would the law agree with you?”

She snorted contemptuously. “Who cares about the law!”

Something about her attitude intrigued me. Of course. “I gather you don’t mind paying for rides with sex. Is that right?”

She shrugged.

I added, “Which covers the big risk to girl hitch-hikers. Pretty neat, if you really don’t mind screwing every man that stops.”

“What screwing?” she snorted.

I glanced at her firm lips. “Excuse me? Did I get the wrong impression?”

The chestnut stirred restlessly. The blonde reminded me, “That one said he would take us all the way.”

I grinned. “And he did, didn’t he?”

Chestnut giggled. “I guess he did.”

Blondie added, “The son of a bitch.”

Chestnut sighed and shook her head. “But we haven’t had to, you know, screw very much.”

“Haven’t you!” My voice showed my surprise. “Have you traveled far?”

“About 500 miles.”

“In that case let me say that my opinion of midwestern male drivers has just improved immensely.”

Both of them laughed.

“What’s funny?”

The blonde’s mirth disappeared. “You are! Mabel has sucked nineteen dicks and I’ve sucked twelve.”

“You’re Mabel?” I asked, glancing at the chestnut.

The blonde answered for her. “With the baby face.”

Indeed her face was rounder, her nose shorter.

“But Madge did two at once,” Mabel said, smiling at her companion.

“Don’t tell everything you know,” the blonde warned.

“31 dicks is a remarkable achievement,” I noted. “How long have you been on the road?”

The girls looked at each other. “Five days,” said the blonde.

“A hundred miles a day? That’s almost as good as the pony express.”

“The what?” wondered chestnut Mabel.

Blonde Madge grumbled, “I swear the cars stop more than they go.”

“Which cars?”

“The ones we get into.”

Mabel giggled. “Oh, wow! That bunch of college boys!”

“Yeah.”

“What bunch?” I asked.

“Outside Harrisburg we got picked up by a, you know, bunch of college boys,” the chestnut said, still smiling. “About six of them. They took us to a roadhouse. They had us naked by the time we got there.”

Madge snorted. “Didn’t wear anything all the next day either.”

“They hid our stuff,” Mabel explained.

“And you got by without screwing?”

“Oh, wow, screwing! You wouldn’t believe such screwing. But that was the only time we did it.”

“The boys just wouldn’t get tired,” said Madge sourly. “But we finally figured it out. They were running new ones in all the time.”

I nodded sagely. “Yes, boys are inventive that way. You don’t really know how many there were, do you?”

“No, but it was lots. I don’t count them in the 31, either. The 31 were grown men.”

“Didn’t two days of it make you sore?”

“It could have.”

“How did you get away from them?”

Madge balled up her fists. “We told them if they didn’t bring us our clothes we’d start screaming.”

“Did it work?”

“No. They stuck socks in our mouths. But they got tired of us pissing on them. We locked ourselves in the bathroom with our things. They went away about midnight and we snuck back to the highway.”

The thought of such ingratitude riled me a bit. “Could you identify them?”

Mabel giggled. “Maybe some of their, you know, dicks.”

“Too bad. They don’t show dicks in the line-up. Sore, are you? I’d like to make them sorer.”

Mabel’s hand fell on my leg. “Oh, everything’s all right now. We thought it was fun, too.” She giggled again. “We were out of our minds!”

“Were you?” I smiled back. “What of you, Madge?”

The blonde looked away. Mabel said, “Madge liked it, too. She’s the one who, you know, thought of screwing three at once.”

“Mabel!” the blond warned.

“How did she do it?” I asked.

“You know: one per hole.” Mabel glanced curiously at the blonde. “Only didn’t I hear them saying they put two in together?”

“Mabel, you talk too much,” Madge retorted. “We need to stick something in your mouth and keep your tongue busy.”

“What you got?” she asked, giggling again. She had a very female, soprano giggle that I found delightful. I told her so.

“Men like it,” she admitted complacently. Her hand squeezed my leg. She leaned against my shoulder. I smelled whisky, either on her breath or in her hair. “What’s your name?” she wondered.

“Harry.”

“Harry?” A high giggle. “Oh, wow, it’s not really hairy, is it?”

It has always disappointed me that women don’t make more of that pun. Here finally was one who at least noted it. I chuckled. “If you’re thinking about what I’m thinking about, you’re right. There’s not a hair on it.”

“Not a single one?” she responded with a pretense of concern. “How about, you know, just around it?”

“The same as you, I bet.”

“What do you bet?”

“You mean it’s not the same? Let me see.”

The blonde snorted. “Better keep your mind on the traffic.”

“What traffic?” I asked, waving my right hand before us. It was essentially non-existent. Two cars were approaching distantly in the opposite lanes and a truck was a small blob in my rear-view mirror.

At the end of the gesture I let my hand fall onto Mabel’s leg. She promptly took it by the wrist, pulled up her sweater and stuck it beneath her waistband. She was wearing female jeans with the zipper on the side. She sucked in her gut and shoved my hand down the front into silky underpants. I felt the mound, the distinct nub of a clitoris, and parted the labia. Her butt twitched. But I felt no hair at all beyond a faint roughness on the mound.

“Wait a minute!” I cried, mouth falling open. “How old did you say you are?”

Her giggle became a full-throated laugh. The blonde joined in. I jerked my hand free. “What is this,” I demanded aggrievedly, “some kind of sting?”

Even as I said it I realized it made no sense. No government agent would let underage girls submit to statutory rape. So I changed my tack. “You two are runaways, aren’t you?”

“He felt it?” asked the blonde.

“Yeah,” said Mabel, still chuckling.

The blonde grinned. “It’s not what you think, Harry. We’re both nineteen.”

“With no pubic hair?” My tone was incredulous as I could make it.

“The college boys shaved us.”

“The — what?”

“That morning they wanted to make pictures of our twats for some kind of paper they were doing. They called it a ‘thoosis,’ or something like that. Every part had to be very clear. They shaved us and we had to sign something. We were supposed to get a hundred clams apiece for it, but of course we ran away that night.” She grinned. “I guess you’re right. We are runaways.”

“What else did they photograph?”

“I’m not sure. Some of the screwing.”

I asked, “Mabel, do you remember it?”

“Oh, wow, I sure do! They put … what’s it called? A thing in, you know, our twats — and up our bums, too.”

“What thing?”

The blonde frowned. “A doctor thing. It separates when you squeeze the handles.”

“A speculum?”

“That’s it! How do you know it, Harry? You’re not a doctor are you?” She glanced back at my heaps of books.

“Not a doctor, but I’m certainly interested in women, especially what goes into them.”

Mabel giggled. “Like this thing?” And her hand fell on my dick through the britches. It was hardly ready for action, having shriveled when I touched the hairless cunt, but her fingers pinched it unerringly: the hand of experience.

“Yes, that thing. Say, Mabel, let me feel of you again. How long ago did they shave you?”

She pulled the front of her jeans away from her belly to admit my hand. “I have very fine hair. It’s started to, you know, come back but you can hardly feel it.”

Conversation lapsed. Let me note here and now that a smoothly shaved cunt is delightful in a different way. I longed to suck it. When I had worked three fingers into her, she twisted around and methodically unbuckled my belt, undid the hook at the front of my britches, unzipped my fly, fished in my shorts and pulled out my stiff stander. Madge leaned forward to look. She sniffed and leaned back, which I ignored as best I could.

“Oh, wow!” Mabel cooed.

I said, “Thank you. I’ve always appreciated ladies’ kindness” — to which Madge snorted.

Mabel’s free hand came alongside mine, guiding my fingers. I don’t recall another woman ever doing that — not that I would complain. I like to know where she wants my attention. The car rolled on, Mabel’s head on my shoulder, four hands of six busy.

“I’d love to suck you,” Mabel said softly in my ear, “but I can’t bend this close.”

I started to say that I’d love to suck her! But I hesitated, wondering how healthy a pussy might be that had fucked its way through 500 miles. The chestnut sweety turned to the blonde. “But Madge’ll do it. She can, you know, lean over me.”

Madge craned her head around and looked at me doubtfully. “There’s not room under the steering wheel.”

Mabel asked brightly, “You could push the seat back, couldn’t you, Harry?”

“I could,” I agreed, “if somebody else will hold the wheel.”

“Not me,” said Mabel, one hand squeezing my dick, the other pressing my hand beneath her mound.

“Oh, I’ll do it,” grumbled Madge, reaching across with both hands. When she had clamped on, I released the wheel, reached around my leg and popped the catch. The seat slid back to its stop. I had to extend my toe to keep pressure on the accelerator. For the first time I wished for cruise control.

“That’s room enough,” Mabel observed as I recovered the wheel.

“All right,” Madge agreed. “Move your hand.”

But Mabel only flattened it, gripping the base of the shaft with her thumb while her fingers curled around my balls. Madge pivoted. The blonde head sank upon me but raised up after a few licks. “Mabel, you’ve got to wash your hands when we get the chance.”

“What’s the matter?” asked the chestnut.

“You’ve still got that berry juice on them. It’s bitter.”

“We tried some berries in the woods,” Mabel explained.

“My god, I didn’t realize you girls were hungry!”

“We’re not,” said the voice over my dick. “That lying fucker must’ve needed to piss. We had to get the taste out. You don’t need to piss, do you, Harry?”

“No, not to speak of.”

“Good. When you do, it makes the juice taste bad.”

With that her mouth re-enclosed me. I asked, “Is this something you’ve learned on the road?”

Mabel giggled. “We’ve learned, you know, a lot on the road. For example, girls can piss further than boys.”

“Can they?”

“Yeah. But boys, you know, can hit a mark better. At least the college boys could.”

“What happened? Did you win one bet but lose another?”

She giggled. “How’d you know?”

“I guessed. What else did you learn?”

“To keep the guy’s mind on his dick if you want him to finish.” Her hand compressed my shaft.

“Do you want me to finish?”

“Madge does. She don’t like sucking ’less she’s, you know, getting sucked, too. Can you finish if you’re driving?”

“I’m wondering that, too.”

“Some guys can’t.”

But my last ejaculation had been Sunday, a week ago. And four fingers of my right hand were working inside the vagina of one woman while my dick was deep in another’s mouth. A stimulating arrangement, I must say! I had managed it approximately only once before, in Vietnam.

The need to keep some small part of one’s attention on the road was actually an advantage, I found. Though my fluids rose through all their masculine twists and turns, the process was far more gradual than usual. For the first time in any girl, I was not a rabbit on the first time. But when they finally exploded I almost wrecked the car.

Mabel screamed, nearly squeezing my dick off. We were headed for the ditch. I recovered control just in time, whipping the wheel to the left, squalling the tires, leaving a cloud of dust in the rear view mirror. The car rocked back into its lane. Somehow I was still spurting into the fast swallowing mouth, though its teeth seemed intent on biting through the shaft. The jolt of fear had prevented her suction from becoming immediately unbearable, though it did soon as I could appreciate it.

I can barely remember crying out. My hand left Mabel forcefully and yanked the blonde off me by the shoulder. The last seminal spurt ran down my shaft onto Mabel’s hand, still in place. I ignored that and checked the car: speed down to 50 but straight in the right lane. Then I looked around.

And gulped. A very bright red light was flashing behind me.

Madge raised up. “Good god, a cop!”

“Oh, wow!” exclaimed Mabel, galvanized into action. She tucked dick into shorts, zipped fly, hooked britches and buckled belt, faster than I can write it in these curlicues. Then she raised up and regarded me worriedly. “You’re not wanted are you?”

I shook my head, foot on the brakes. “No. He probably thinks we’re drunk.”

As usual the cop made us wait on the roadside while he checked my tags by radio. I reached across the girls, opened the glove compartment and fumbled for my registration. They sat and watched me. I grunted. “Madge, wipe off your chin.”

“Where?”

“You can’t miss it.”

“I don’t have a rag.”

I started to offer my handkerchief, but Mabel muttered, “I’ll get it. She leaned her face toward the blonde’s. When she backed away the streak of cream was gone.

“Now roll down the window,” I ordered, turning the crank on mine.

“It’s cold!”

“Yeah, but this car has a certain air in it.”

“Air?”

“You know,” said Mabel.

“Oh. Jism.” She cranked down her window. Indeed the breeze was cold but it was welcome.

I turned off the engine and we waited. Mabel mused, “Every time they jerk, you know, to the right.”

“Who does?” I asked.

“Guys … you know, shooting off.”

“They jerk the car to the right?”

“Every time. I guess it’s better than jerking to the left.”

“Nineteen times so far, was it?”

“Twenty. Well, no. This one counts for Madge.”

This had ceased to be amusing. “Keep on and you’ll be the national expert.”

“Expert?”

“At cock sucking.”

“Oh, wow! Imagine me an expert!”

If I meant to insult her, clearly I’d have to find another way. I was saved from that stupidity by the arrival of a state patrolman.

“Driver’s license and registration,” he demanded, looking sharply at me then at the girls. He started. “Two of you!”

“Three,” I corrected.

“I didn’t see but one girl. Where was the blonde?”

“Ah, she was asleep.”

“‘Asleep,’” he repeated doubtfully. “Hmph!”

“Wasn’t she, Mabel?” I said, nudging her very slightly with my elbow.

“Huh? Oh, yes, sir.”

He studied the documents, turned them over, peered at me. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, officer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then why the open window? Did you throw something out?”

“No. We just wanted the fresh air. You can close that one, Madge.”

Madge dutifully cranked it up.

The policeman shook his head. “I can smell it.”

“Smell what?”

“Whisky.”

“I think my girl had a drink about two hours ago.”

“You think?”

“She wasn’t with me then.”

He looked at Mabel’s baby face. “Are you old enough to drink?”

“I’m twenty-two,” she said coolly.

“Can you prove that?”

She shrugged.

“No identification?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have a driver’s license, if that’s what you mean.” I noticed that the flower child idiom had departed. She added, “And you’ll observe, sir, that I’m not driving.”

He was young, younger than I. He glared at me. “I think you’ve got a bottle of whisky under your seat.”

“Why is that, officer?”

“Because I smell it and because of your reckless driving.” He gestured toward the back. “You might have anything in that mess. I want to search this car.”

I felt Mabel tense as I thought it over. The car held no contraband, so far as I knew. Of course, who can keep up with the government on that? Every week they add something new to the list. Still, I was beginning to get angry. “Officer, I’ll agree that the swerve was reckless. My girl was tickling my ear and accidentally stuck her finger in my eye. She’s sorry and I’m sorry and it won’t happen again. But there was no harm done, and I don’t think you have grounds for the search warrant you’re going to need if you insist on searching my car. Do you want me to get out and walk a straight line?”

He stared at me. “Furthermore you were speeding.”

I looked around. “What’s the speed limit?”

“You know you were speeding.”

“No, I don’t. And both these ladies will swear they didn’t know it either.”

He looked from one girl to the other. “Does either of you have anything you want to say to me?”

When they only stared back, he added, “You can say anything you want. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Then let us go,” Madge flared. “If we hang around here we’re going to be late.”

This may not have been quite what the officer expected. He sighed. His eyes dropped to me. “All right. You can go, but watch your driving. I’ve got your tag number. If it shows up anywhere I’ll add reckless driving to the charges.”

I had to bite my tongue to avoid asking him where I could go to complain of police harassment. With the girls as my witnesses I might have roasted him pretty well. Perhaps he realized it. In any case I only nodded to him before rolling up the window and starting the engine. It almost never pays to argue with a cop.

After all I had run off the road! In this state that’s prima-facie evidence of reckless driving. With the terrible luck to do it right in front of a cop. Wonder if governments will ever realize that interfering with ordinary citizens for victimless crimes breeds wide-spread loathing of their agents and the law itself. Never mind; that question and my answers to it belong in the open journal. At least he let me off.

He did follow, sticking like glue almost into the city. I was careful to drive as an old man drives, a very cautious old man. When I was up to speed, Mabel said, “Harry, you were great. Wasn’t he, Madge?”

“Yeah. You did real good, Harry. We appreciate it a lot. And we’ll prove it if you give us another chance.”

“What did I do that was so great?”

“Not letting him search your car.”

“Oh, yeah? What would he have found?”

They looked at each other, then back at me. Mabel’s hand fell over my dick. She said, “Don’t ask that, Harry.”

I shrugged. A bit later I mused, “He thought his speeding claim was safe.”

“Safe?” Mabel repeated.

“He thought I’d look guilty. Just about everybody speeds, you know.”

Madge peered over her shoulder. “He’s still back there.”

I guessed, “He wants me to dive for the ditch again.”

Madge grunted. “Then I’ll wait till he leaves.”

“Don’t keep looking back,” Mabel ordered.

“Why not?” asked the blonde.

“He’ll think we’re worried.”

“Well, we are!”

“You don’t want him to find out why.”

“All right,” Madge agreed, turning front.

Curiously their roles had reversed. Chestnut was now acting commander. What was in their bags? Heroin? Cocaine? I shook my head. That’s not what I wanted to know!

“Did you just offer to suck me again?” I asked Madge.

“If you want it.”

“You like to do that?”

She chuckled. “Maybe I can catch up with Mabel.”

“But do you?”

“You know how it is, Harry. This is a man’s world. It’s not what we like, it’s what you like. And in a car it’s the neat way: no muss, no fuss and pretty damn quick.”

“All right. But what does it do for you?”

“Nothing.”

I suggested, “But at least it won’t make you pregnant.”

She grunted. “That’s not a problem.”

Mabel commented reasonably, “In a car it’s hard to, you know, pleasure a woman, Harry.”

“It sure is for the driver,” Madge agreed with a snort.

A bit later I said, “Tell me about these jobs in San Jose.”

“They’re just jobs,” said Mabel.

Madge grunted. “If they’re still there.”

“Like a factory closing?” I wondered.

She grunted again. “More like the men have split.”

They didn’t want to talk about it. Mabel continued to play with my dick. It was sore as it started to rise.

“Madge, did you bite me?”

“Bite? No, Harry, I wouldn’t bite.”

“Let me see,” Mabel offered. Her practiced hands made quick work of my exposure. My earlier pique with her had evaporated.

“Oh, look!” she breathed. “You did bite it, Madge!”

“Oh, my god!” cried the blonde, staring, hand to mouth. “Must’ve happened when you screamed.”

“Is it bad?” I wondered with more than a casual interest.

“Oh, Harry,” Madge moaned, “I’m so sorry! I’d sooner bite my own finger off.”

“Tooth marks?” I asked. Mabel’s hand plus the bottom of the steering wheel blocked my vision.

“Tooth bruises,” she announced. “Madge, you got any of the salve?”

“It’s locked up in the bag. Oh, Harry! I can’t believe I did that.”

Mabel snorted. “You did it, all right. It wa’n’t that way when you swallowed it. Harry, you ought to stop the car and let us fix this.”

“We’re getting close to town,” I said, thinking fast. “Will you girls be my guest for the night?”

“At your house? What’ll your wife say?”

“What wife! But, no, I was thinking of a motel I know, right at the 56 intersection.”

“We don’t have money for a motel.”

“I said you’ll be my guests.”

They stared at me. I added, “I’ll take you to dinner, too.”

Mabel asked quietly, “Why would you do all that for us, Harry?”

I’d been wondering that myself. When she asked, the words fell into place. “Because I want to play college boys.”

* * * *

I checked them in at the Bubble Motel, not because of its plastic bubble over the pool but because it was reasonable and from past experience I knew the manager would ask no questions. Though I did point out the bubble to my girls, visible from our doorway. It was heated and they could swim if they had something to wear, I said. Madge sniffed. What if they didn’t? Mabel giggled. By that time the flower child had returned.

In the room they threw their duffels on one of the two double beds. Mabel bounced on the other one. “Nice!” she declared, raising up and stripping off her sweater in one sweeping gesture. Madge divested hers, too. Short flannel blouses were exposed.

Madge cocked her head at me. “How many are you bringing?”

“Many what?”

“College boys.”

I shook my head. “Madge, I don’t know any college boys.”

She frowned. “I understood you to say —”

“I know one ex-college boy!”

“One!” Her eyes widened.

“Me.”

“Oh.” She looked me up and down, turned and grinned at the chestnut. “Then we’ll get some sleep for a change.”

“Oh, wow!”

I couldn’t tell if Mabel meant to express pleasure or disappointment, though I had my suspicion.

“I’m going home to shower and change,” I announced, looking at my wrist watch. It was then about 16:30. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty and we’ll go to dinner.”

Madge said, “First we need to fix your dick.”

“Do you think it needs special attention?”

“I’m sorry to say it does. Take your pants off. I’ll get the salve.”

While I exposed my lower half she produced a key and opened the big padlock on one of the duffels. She dug out a ceramic pot about twice as wide as a shot glass. I saw the word, Rosetourn, on the lid — if that’s a word — surrounded by images of tiny roses. It proved to contain a bluish paste.

“Let me,” said Mabel. “You’re too rough.”

“Only when you scream,” retorted Madge. “I swear I thought a bee had stung you.”

But she released the pot. Mabel sat on the end of the bed and pulled me in front of her. She gouged a fingertip into the paste and took hold of my glans delicately between the other thumb and forefinger. She pulled it and frowned. “Can’t you make it bigger?”

“I, ah …”

Madge sniggered. “You wanted to do it, Mabel!”

“Okay.” Holding the pasted hand well clear, her free arm went around my buttocks, drawing me close. Her mouth enclosed me. The size problem was shortly solved — lengthened, that is. But the soreness returned, though it was less painful.

“I … think you can reach it,” I suggested diffidently after a few seconds.

“She don’t know when to stop,” Madge observed. “Let her keep on if you’re in the mood.”

Mabel had ingested the whole shaft. Her hand released my buttocks, returned to the front and captured my balls. If the shaft hadn’t been sore … But it was. I backed away. “Put the salve on, if you’re sure it’ll do any good.”

While she rubbed it in I picked up the lid. It claimed to heal cracked lips, vaginal abrasions, fever blisters and bruises to the cervix, to regulate the menses, to toughen membranes including labia and nipples, to dry up fungal infections, hemorrhoids and genital warts and to prevent conception. In smaller print it declared itself sovereign against all penile afflictions including premature ejaculation. “Use lesser quantities on male organs and near the clitoris,” it directed. In the smallest print of all I could barely make out a date: 1918.

I started to ask where they got it, when I suddenly realized several things. Mabel had released me and extended her hand for the lid; the bluish paste had vanished, leaving the organ pink and moist; and I was about to climax!

“Good god, Mabel, what have you done to me?”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m going to come!”

“You are? Well, go ahead.” She leaned forward and mouthed me again. Just in time. Her arms encircled my hips, preventing my escape. But it was curiously tolerable, though she suckled vigorously until the last drop. Another who hasn’t learned Daisy’s lesson — though in this case I think it would’ve been less sweet if she had. Did this salve reduce the sensitivity? Maybe it does cure premature ejaculation!

Madge had leaned forward, watching avidly. Drained, I backed up in search of a chair. I heard Madge say, “Neat work, Sugar. I can catch it, too, if nobody screams in my ear.”

Mabel shrugged. “Wa’n’t much of it.”

Madge nodded. “Oh, yeah, forget that was his second. He shot me a mouthful!”

Mabel’s tongue swabbed her lips. “Oh, wow. It numbs you, you know.”

“Your lips?”

“Yeah. Off his dick.”

“You never noticed that before?”

“I can’t remember ever putting it, you know, on a dick before.”

“You shouldn’t rub it on the head unless you want him to come off bang.”

“Oh, wow, I’ll have to remember that.”

I finally could ask my question. “Where in the world did you get that stuff?”

Madge looked at me guardedly. “My great grandmother made it in Massachusetts. Old family recipe. She sold it to drugstores, made a lot of money, too, till the government made her quit. They said there was no scientific proof it worked. Scientific!” Her eyes sparkled.

“Well, it does work!” I said feelingly.

“We know it.”

“How much do you have left?”

“A cellar full at home. Enough for my family. And kids, if any. You don’t really need a fraction of what Mabel put on you.”

“How long will it affect me?”

“Not much longer.” She grinned, eyeing me. “It’s staying up there real good, ain’t it?”

“It does that anyway,” I claimed, though in fact that’s true only if the stimulation continues. This Rosetourn works!

“We’ll give you a little more tonight,” she said, eyes twinkling.

“Thank you.” I levered myself out of the chair and gathered up my pants. The girls sat watching me. As I buckled the belt Madge frowned. “Where you taking us for dinner?”

“You feel like a steak?”

“I don’t know.” Her expression became worried. “What should we wear, Harry?”

* * * *

Actually it stayed half way up all the way home and through my shower, tingling whenever I touched it. Took out a camp mirror and examined it very carefully in the bright bathroom lights. It looked the same except for a faint, serrated blue line on either side about halfway along the shaft. I don’t remember ever seeing such marks on it before. I pumped it up a few strokes. At least the soreness was gone.

Make a note: in the future while driving accept blowjobs only from toothless grannies!

About six I let myself back into the motel room, having retained the only key, fully expecting my itchy-footed fellatrices to be gone. Indeed the girls were absent but their bags were under the rack with female clothing draped over the hangers. I heard Mabel’s unmistakable giggle above rushing water in the bathroom.

I pushed the door open gently but needn’t have bothered being stealthy. They were sitting very close in the bathtub, each chin over the other’s shoulder, long legs drawn up and alternately intertwined to align their pubes. Mabel’s arms were pulling them together while Madge’s hands held the detached shower head, flexible pipe fully extended, out of sight between their bellies, directing the fizzing spray against the kissing cunts. Mabel was giggling. Madge’s face, turned towards me, was blank. Her eyes were slightly open but I don’t think she was seeing anything.

They were so close together I couldn’t see anything either. Decided to give them five minutes, pulled the door closed and sat down in a chair. It was more like ten. Somebody shrieked a few times; must have been Madge because Mabel was still giggling. The rushing water ceased. Not long afterwards Mabel backed out of the bathroom trailing a towel, hands warding something in front of her, still emitting giggles now interspersed with “Quit! Quit!” Madge followed her, grinning like a maniac, thrusting the handle of a plumber’s friend toward Mabel’s cuntal regions in the manner of a fencing foil.

She saw me, turned and threw the plunger back into the bathroom. “Here’s Harry!” she declared. “His plunger’ll fit you better anyway.”

Mabel spun around. I had a flash of swaying breasts before, eyes wide, she jerked the towel across her torso. “How long you been here?” she demanded.

Towelless Madge, arriving beside her, snatched the bath towel out of her hands, ordering “Let him see what he’s bought and paid for.”

Mabel reached half-heartedly after the towel, then stood straight. Both girls were a pair below the neck: round breasted, slim waisted, fully hipped with firm, tapering thighs having that distinctly feminine gap below the pubes. They were almost identically the same height and plumpness. The only difference, I guess — assuming the hair on their heads to be natural, would have been the color of pubic hair, though of course that was missing.

Suddenly I doubted they were girls. These were women’s bodies! In their mid twenties at least, though still babeless.

Mabel noticed the direction of my gaze. She asked, “Being hairless there — does it, you know, put you off?”

“Only in young girls,” I lied. What puts me off is someone meaning to entrap me. I proclaimed, “In fact the mature cunny with its pouting lips is a compelling object. The college boys were right.”

“About what?”

“The advantage of an uncluttered view. Don’t suppose you’d give me a better look?”

Mabel took a step toward me but Madge caught her arm. “We’re hungry.”

I nodded. “Okay, I can wait.”

“You don’t have to,” Mabel declared. She shook off the blonde’s hand and shoved her. “Go fix your face. I’ll tend to Harry.”

“God, we’ll never get supper!” Madge complained before returning to the bathroom.

Mabel sauntered to where I sat and elevated one bare leg, still a bit damp, by placing her foot on my chair arm. The red polish on her toes was flaking. Then I ceased to notice her feet. She smirked, “Look if that’s what you want.”

I leaned forward and opened her pouties to expose pearly pink and red, a stirring sight. I glanced up. She was watching me with an indulgent half smile. “I’m glad it doesn’t embarrass you,” I remarked.

She snorted. “I looked you over first.” The grin vanished. “Did you see us, you know, in the bathroom?”

“With the shower head between you,” I admitted.

“Oh, wow!”

“Don’t tell me that embarrasses you!”

“Depends on what you make of it.”

“I don’t mind girls having fun.” I touched her clit and she twitched. “This doesn’t care who rubs it.”

“That’s not really true, you know. It likes you.”

“I like it, too. And it likes Madge.”

“It loves Madge. We’ve been, you know, doing each other all our lives.”

“You’re sisters?”

“No. Cousins. Our grandmother raised us.”

“So you were raised together. Then where’d you get this bimbo talk?”

“Saw it in, you know, San Fernando Beach.”

“In a movie?”

“Right. Made it a habit.”

“Why?”

“Makes me sound stupid. The guys like that.”

“You know, to the guys it means you’re easy.”

“Well, I am! Huh! You doing it, too?”

“What I want to do is this.” I pulled her hips closer, leaned forward and put my tongue into her pink crease, lifting. She shuddered. The only thing more delicious than a freshly laundered cunt, with its clinging lips and delicate folds, is a freshly fucked one. Though my tongue noticed its absence, I didn’t miss the hair. I had wanted to tell her that the San Fernando Valley didn’t have a beach but something got my tongue.

The chair arms were padded. She rose upon them with both knees, letting me slide down slightly in the seat. My hands slipped up under her arms, which were braced on the chair back, and cupped her breasts, palms grinding the nipples. She began to giggle. The bath with Madge must have left her high. Creaking of the hip bones told me when she began to climax, so I concentrated most of my tongue work below the hypersensitive engorged clit, as Daisy had taught me. When the creaking eased I returned to the clit, barely flicking it. More creaks, stronger giggle. Lowered tongue, less creaks and so on.

I recommend that position. Comfort for the cunt licker.

After awhile she sagged, her legs sliding down across my pants, breasts falling on either side of my face. She was sweating. Ah, the odor of a woman’s skin! I suddenly became a cleavage licker. Not a good move. She raised up and frowned at me. “That tickles!”

“You’ll need another bath,” Madge grumbled.

I looked up. She was standing beside us in her outdoor face — eyebrows arched, eyes shadowed, cheeks rouged, nose powdered, lips scarlet — but nothing else.

“No, she won’t,” I argued, wiping my mouth with my hand. “Nobody to smell her but you and I. And you don’t mind!”

Mabel raised her head and took a breath. “He saw us, you know, in the tub.”

Madge grinned at me. “Well, it sure didn’t put him off.”

Mabel’s hand went between us unerringly. She smiled. “No, it didn’t.”

Madge jerked her chin. “Go do your face.”

Mabel sighed. “Guess I better.”

When she had backed away, I patted the arms of the chair. “Come on up.”

The blonde licked her lips. “Didn’t you say you had to make a reservation?”

“Seven-thirty was the first I could get on such short notice. We have plenty of time.”

“Just don’t mess up my lipstick,” she warned, bending knees onto the chair arm.

“No lipstick on these lips!”

“Oh, you can do whatever you want to them!”

In fact she wanted more. At first my tongue drew no response beyond a slight hardening of the clitoris, smaller than Mabel’s, the first difference between them to be found below their necks. Then she suggested, “Instead of squeezing my boobs, why don’t you” — she took a breath — “put in some fingers?”

I wanted to ask how many but my tongue was well beyond her inner lips at that moment. I brought a hand down and slipped two fingers past it.

She said immediately, “Not there!”

That reduced the choice. Already moistened, the two slipped easily through her anal sphincter. I understood that she was deliberately relaxing it. Her clit swelled.

“More,” she directed.

The third was dry. I licked it first, then as an afterthought licked the pinkie. I held the four straight, bunched together as if proffering a ten buck tip. The nails passed her easily.

“That’s good,” she breathed, clamping down. She was hot, soft and wet inside, with a strong grip. I began to pump gently.

“Harder!” she ordered. “Stiff your tongue, too.”

She made me work at it, but by god she screamed when she came, her whole body rigid. Then she simply collapsed. I actually gripped her by the perineum, thumb in her cunt and four fingers up her ass, long enough to prevent her falling backward off the chair. What a bowling ball! As a result she sagged upon me like a soft sack of potatoes with my hand imprisoned between her compressed legs.

Looking past her shoulder, I saw Mabel pop out of the bathroom, lipstick in hand. “What’s the matter?” she called.

“Madge came,” I explained.

She cocked an eyebrow at me, then bent her head to peer around the curve of the blonde’s butt. “Oh, wow,” she breathed. “That kills her.”

“I hope not.”

“But she, you know, loves it.” She whirled and vanished into the bathroom.

“Yes, I know,” I responded to her back.

“Oh, god, I do!” the blonde murmured into my neck.

“Back with us?”

“Yes. I didn’t really pass out.”

“You made a pretty good imitation.”

“I saw stars, different colors, a whole lot of them. Oh, Harry! You did good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“And we’ll take care of you. Better let me up.”

“Then open your legs.”

“Oh!” She giggled pleasantly but not with the chestnut’s soprano cuteness. “Guess I want to keep your hand.”

To my surprise and satisfaction they matched my suit and tie with standard feminine evening apparel: frilly blouses, skirts, pantyhose and all the “foundations,” as the women’s catalogs say, even patent black high-heeled shoes with the stylish sharp toes that — I’d never say this to a woman — make female feet look two sizes too big. Despite having been folded in duffel bags and carried five days on shoulders, the garments were neat as if just back from the cleaners. When I expressed my amazement Madge laughed at me. Mabel patted my cheek and admitted they had borrowed an iron from the manager. Knowing that tight bastard, I wondered how they’d worked it. On second thought that’s no mystery.

The restaurant was jammed as the result of a convention in the adjoining hotel. My two tastefully adorned sluts, one on either arm, stopped conversation as the hostess guided us to a table. We were the center of all eyes. I’m sure I was beaming with pride. To have the best looking woman — not to speak of women! — is the peak masculine achievement, as any man, even a faggot, will admit when he tells the truth. Once seated, I looked from one to the other and declared, “You are two fine looking broads!”

“Thank you,” said the chestnut, eyes soft.

Madge grunted. “Pretty is as pretty does.”

I grinned at her. “What I’ve seen was very pretty.”

“Oh yeah?” She grinned back but her eyes were hard. “If we jumped up and did it on this table cloth, damn few would agree with you.”

I looked around. The diners were almost exclusively men, a lot of whom were still peering at us. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” I retorted. “But save the demonstration. I want an exclusive.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t show them again!”

“Again?”

Chestnut regarded blonde with concern. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing special.” Madge glanced around. “Except they look just like what we’ve seen all week.”

“Oh.” Mabel winked at me. “Only you and the, you know, college boys were any fun, Harry.”

“I’m sick of sucking their dicks,” the blonde announced, making a face.

“No, you aren’t,” Mabel corrected. “You’re sick of them thinking we’re trash who don’t deserve them keeping their word.”

“You’re right about that. What a bunch of liars they are!”

I noticed the pun and couldn’t let it pass. “Actually, this is a convention of lawyers.”

“Close enough,” said Madge, failing to be amused.

“Oh, wow!” breathed Mabel, looking around for herself. “Rich lawyers?”

I admitted, “Never heard of a poor one.”

The waitress appeared. “Can I get you folks something to drink?”

“I want something sweet,” Mabel declared. “A piña colada.”

“A virgin one?” asked the waitress.

Mabel giggled. “Do I look like a virgin?”

“You have to be 21 in this state,” said the woman disapprovingly.

“To be a virgin,” Madge whispered with a wink.

Mabel fetched up a dainty purse, took out a plastic card, presumably a driver’s license, and passed it to waitress. The woman studied it, handed it back. She smiled despite the threat to her cheeks and said, “Yes, ma’am. One piña colada coming up. And you, ma’am?”

“A strawberry daiquiri,” said Madge, “with double the rum.”

“They won’t let me do that,” the waitress protested. “I can bring you two of them!”

“No. They won’t taste right. Okay. Bring me a double rum and a strawberry soda.”

“We don’t have strawberry soda.”

“A cola then. But don’t forget the double rum.”

“Yes, ma’am. And you, sir?”

“Just a coke, thank you. Bring us three shrimp cocktails, too. You girls like shrimp, don’t you?”

When that was settled and the waitress gone, I said to Mabel, “Thought you didn’t have a driver’s license.”

She chortled. “I don’t. That was a fake.”

“They don’t ever card me!” complained Madge with a sneer that became a frown as she looked at me. “Come on, Harry. You ought to have a drink, too. Loosen you up.”

“A coke!” Mabel sniffed. She grinned. “You need something strong to, you know, take our taste out of your mouth.”

“I like your taste. And tonight I want all my sensibilities working their best. Speaking of taste, how do you feel, Madge?”

She wiggled her hips. “A little sore.” She grinned. “But it’s good.”

“How many fingers?” Mabel asked.

I looked at Madge. She smiled dreamily. “Four.”

How did she know that? Counter on her anus?

“Show me four, Harry,” the chestnut urged.

I shrugged and held up my hand, fingers arrayed together as I had presented them beneath the blonde. Mabel reached out and squeezed across the knuckles. “Hmm. Bigger than a beer bottle.”

“Some,” Madge agreed. She had no need to feel, of course. She added, “Smaller than a champagne bottle.”

“But a lot shorter than the neck,” the chestnut observed.

“And not so hard, either,” noted the blonde.

“What are you talking about?” I wondered, believing I had already guessed.

“A contest,” said Madge.

“At a, you know, motorcycle rally.”

“You girls ride motorcycles?”

“In back,” Madge replied. “We don’t drive.”

“Once we rode on the handlebars,” Mabel said with a giggle.

“Oh, that was just a dirt bike.”

“You girls get around, don’t you? Been to California before?”

Madge’s reticence was gone. Had she somehow learned to trust me? I’ve been told I have an honest face — by the guy who sold me my lemon Fairlane. Whatever the reason, both of them opened up during the appetizer and the dinner that followed. Not that their lips, either set, had been exactly sealed before!

They were the same age: 26, so they said now. “You didn’t really believe we were nineteen, did you?” Their mothers had been sisters. Had been? Who knows; neither had been seen in twenty years. The two girls were raised by their common grandmother and taught sex by the man who claimed to be Mabel’s father, who spent most of his time, when in the grandmother’s house, in the grandmother’s bed. A passionate family. When I so commented, Mabel agreed readily. “If we had to choose, instead of eating we’d all rather, you know, fuck.”

They were runaways and had been for ten years. Though at the end of the first two on the road, out of salve and both pregnant, they’d gone home and got Mabel’s father to pay for their abortions by threatening to claim him as the father of both brats. Except for the salve, they were convinced, he would have been a few years earlier.

If the salve was so reliable, I asked, how is it that they are even alive? Surely their mothers had used it. Oh, no, they’d stopped, according to Granny. Why? Shrug. For love. At the same time? You’ll have to ask them, not us!

Been to California? They laughed. Had they been to California! After consulting each other’s memories, they finally agreed they’d entered that state at least six times in the ten years, leaving always with men but staying close together, almost always in actual sight of each other, within arms length where possible. That need for each other, worse than identical twins, had been their main cause of trouble on the road.

“They say women can’t get along,” Madge observed indignantly, “but it’s really men! Every time we hook up with a pair, in no time both of them want to screw Mabel. She’s prettier than me, I guess, though you must’ve noticed that we ain’t so different in that department! I don’t care if they screw her, though I’m the one that likes a double, but then they start trying to make us separate.”

And the only separation they will countenance is from the men who insist on it. This has gotten them many lumps and once Madge a broken rib, but they are learning the warning signs of men who are violent, so they said, and now avoid taking up with that kind. Madge grinned slyly at me, awaiting the natural question, but my proposition hadn’t yet come together.

Most of the dinner was spent hearing where they’ve been and what they’ve done. That’s nearly everywhere and everyone — the half with dicks, at least, according to Mabel. They’ve been all over North America, including Alaska, Canada and Mexico. Never Mexico again; they nearly starved in Mexico. What about venereal disease? None of that. Come on, ladies, in ten years of fucking? The salve! they cried, grinning at me triumphantly. The salve! They might suck without it, but a dab always goes in elsewhere before any dick. They don’t even have warts.

That part is certainly true. All over they have the skin of teenagers who managed to avoid acne.

They ordered ten ounce steaks and ate them with relish but indifferent table manners. Both crumpled their napkins beside their plates, using them only to wipe juice off their chins. When I stared at the first such use, Madge, whose chin it was, cocked an eyebrow at me. “What’re you thinking?”

“Of Mabel licking my juice off your face in the car.”

“Oh, we lick each other everywhere.”

“I know you do.”

Mabel said around her mouthful of meat, “You like to lick, too, don’t you, Harry?”

“Not particularly.” A lie. “But I’ll admit I never enjoyed it more than I did just now.” The truth.

“You do it, you know, better than anyone but Madge.”

“Do I! That’s a high compliment.”

“Who taught you to, you know, let up at the right time?”

I grinned. “Don’t you believe a man could guess it?”

She shook her head. “Some girl taught you.”

An unshod foot had been caressing my genitals for the last five minutes. I asked, “Is that you?”

“Is what me?”

I glanced at Madge, who winked. Mabel laid her hand over mine. “I can, you know, do the same for you.”

“You must like to do it.”

“I know how to make you come twice in two minutes.”

“Do you? And three times in three minutes?”

“That would kill you.” She shook her head. “What I really like is to please a man, you know, who pleases me.”

“I hope I qualify.”

“You please both of us. We decided that even before you licked us. Hey, there’s the waitress! Can we get another drink?”

We certainly could. That settled, I caressed Madge’s foot in return through the panty hose. The napkin slid off my leg where her insistent toes had relocated it. “Damn napkin,” I muttered to Mabel, and stooped to retrieve it, noting that the table cloth was barely long enough to conceal one of Madge’s legs raised over and supported by the other. She was facing me across the table at just the right distance. Mabel, on my right, was again too close. Both girls skirt’s were up to their hips. Do all women sit that way at dinner tables? For cooling?

I raised up, pretending to fumble with the napkin.

“Leave it on the table,” Mabel advised.

“Miss Post says it goes in your lap,” I retorted, having managed to unzip my fly with one hand, not the easiest task. I stretched my underpants — note: don’t wear them when you’re dating these two! — below my balls. When everything had flopped out, I clasped Madge’s heel and pressed her toes against my stiff stander.

“Miss Post ain’t here,” Mabel observed.

“No,” I agreed. “And I’m glad. You two are enough for any man.”

The blonde said, “You have a pocket knife?”

“Yes.”

“Then cut it open.”

I decided she meant the toe of her panty hose. Mabel looked at her oddly. “Do what?”

I asked the blonde, “You’d trust me not to cut your foot?”

“Sure.” She grinned. “That wouldn’t get you any fun.”

“What’s going on?” asked Mabel, looking from one to the other.

“I’m rubbing his dick,” said Madge, glancing at her.

“You’re rubbing — Oh. Oh, wow!”

“You sure you want me to ruin your pantyhose?” I asked.

“You’ll buy some more, won’t you?”

I took out my pocket knife and looked down my nose, trying not to bend my head. Her toes rose obligingly past the edge of the table cloth. I stretched out the end of the stocking and began to saw on it. Nylon is tough! And my knife has never been sharpened.

Mabel giggled at me. “If anybody looks they’ll think you’re, you know, jerking off.”

I glanced around. Nobody was looking. I had an idea. The pocket knife went back into the pocket. I attacked her stocking again with my steak knife, after wiping it on the napkin. Immediate success!

Madge’s bare toes were cold. Surprised not to have noticed, I learned that even sheer nylon offers some insulation. But the toes warmed up. She pressed them all around my skin and grinned. “They can feel almost good as my fingers. That’s your right nut.”

“Actually my left.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, left, right.” She chuckled.

“You never could get that right,” Mabel told her.

“Well, we know what this is! Too bad I can’t spread my toes farther.”

“Oh, wow! Bet you can’t make him come.”

“Oh, yeah?”

The foot began to move faster.

I raised my hand. “Hold it, ladies! Let’s save what’s left for the bedroom.”

The foot fell still. “That’s right. We glommed you twice already.”

“Glommed?”

The blonde explained, “It means sucked you off.”

“Is that motorcycle lingo?”

“Yeah. It’s supposed to mean the girl leaning around the guy and sucking him while they’re doing 80. But it got … it got —”

“Corrupted?” I couldn’t resist.

“I guess.”

“Then I’m all for glomming — at slow speed, at least — but I’ll tell you: the best way to get it is still in the baby maker.”

Mabel seemed surprised. “You think so?”

“You won’t make one in us,” declared Madge.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’ll refuse me,” I protested.

“Oh, no.” She grinned. “You can squirt it wherever you want. You’re paying the bill!”

“Then what — Oh. Your salve, eh?”

“Right.”

“You girls really believe in it, do you?”

“Yes, yes,” they both averred.

“I hope it never lets you down. But I’m reminded of that old joke about the technical name for a girl who relies on anything but abstinence.”

“Everybody’s heard that,” said Mabel. “It’s, you know, mother. But she didn’t have our salve.”

“No, she didn’t. Ten years and only the one pregnancy each?”

“Only one. It taught us our lesson.”

The restaurant had a rich dessert tray. My offer to split a huge chocolate concoction was rejected out of hand. “Oh, no!” cried Madge, eyes shining with greed. “Let’s have one apiece. We’ll eat what you leave.”

After a ten-ounce steak, a large baked potato with plenty of goop, half a head of lettuce, a shrimp cocktail and at least two drinks! I spread my hands and nodded to the waitress, who left with dollar signs in her eyes. The money didn’t worry me; I had just sold my holdings in Amalgamated Glass to cover the telescope, which would cover this instead. What concerned me was fear their bellies would be too stuffed for my dick to fit, which would be the effect.

“Yummy!” they cried, almost in unison as their spoons sank into the chocolate. “We don’t eat this way every day,” Mabel admitted, “nor even, you know, every month.” Chocolate syrup ran down the side of her mouth. If the waitress hadn’t come back just then with my concoction I would’ve licked that off her face. Instead I patted her with my napkin.

I remembered, barely, to zip up my fly before rising. In the car I excused myself and undid belt and britches, releasing my belly. “God, I’m full!”

From the girls, “So’m I! And I!”

Madge sat beside me. We were hardly out of the parking lot before her hand had exposed me. Mabel watched in the light from the dash. “It’s my turn,” she declared, “in a car.”

“Okay,” Madge admitted reluctantly. “Harry, let the seat go back.”

I was about to protest when Mabel begged off. “Oh, no!” she wailed. “I can’t bend over!”

Never had I seen women eat so heartily. I wondered, “When was the last time you two had a good meal?”

“Hmm.” They thought about it. Madge said, “Yesterday we ate pretty good at lunch. That cabbage farmer who came in your hair.”

“Well, he jerked it out, you know, when he started.”

“He stopped at a gas station so Mabel could wash in the back, then let us eat at the diner across the street.”

“And before that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. But we get by, Harry. We ain’t skinny, in case you noticed.”

“I’ve noticed. I guess your benefactors aren’t total scoundrels.”

“Total — Oh, no, Harry. By and large, men are good to us.”

“And we don’t have to work a lick,” Mabel crowed.

“Not even a lick?”

“Well …” She giggled. “A lick here and there, what’s that?”

I nodded. “Miller was right: the world never lets a pretty woman starve.”

Madge demanded, “Miller? Who’s that?”

“Henry Miller. He wrote a few books.”

Mabel asked, “You think we’re pretty, Harry?”

“Madge said it: Pretty is as pretty does. You two are more generous with what a man loves than all the women I ever heard about.”

“But that’s not pretty!”

“Yes, it is. To me. And I suspect a lot of others.”

“They don’t act like they think so.”

“Because they’re suspicious. Nobody can believe you two are as sweet and generous as you truly are, because it’s so rare. They think there’s got to be a catch. They probably expect the badger game. They keep looking over their shoulders for your husbands.”

“You don’t!”

“I’m not married. The badger game won’t work on me.” Actually it might, if they learn about Daisy.

“Do you think that’s what we’re doing?” This was Mabel, serious, flower child missing.

“No, I don’t. Shall I tell you exactly why?”

“Please do.”

“Because you haven’t asked a single question about me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d be seeking all kinds of information if you had an ulterior motive.”

“I asked if you’re a doctor,” Madge remembered.

“But nothing else.”

“Well, it’s not that we don’t care, Harry.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. You think I’ll throw you out in the morning.”

“Won’t you?”

“No.”

“Huh? You’re kidding!”

“We’ll talk about that later. Here’s the motel.”

But we didn’t speak seriously again for at least three hours. In the meantime I steeped myself in soft tits, lumpy nipples, rounded thighs, padded hips, and bellies with two holes in their bottoms. I was submerged in female flesh and the female odor. As the saying goes, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven — except the Christians don’t allow sex in it. The Moslem paradise, with its houris for righteous men, is far more attractive. I kept my arms around both my houris as much as possible, breasts crushed into my sides, wet slits open on my hips. They taught me a tonguey three-way kiss, all three mouths slobbering together at once. Powerful! You have to try that to appreciate it. They ought to patent it.

Most of the dick work was done with their hands. They got the juice from me only twice more, first into Mabel’s baby box, much later into Madge’s rectum. That was pleasant, aided by their miraculous salve, but I verified once again that nothing equals the sheath nature intended. As a designer myself, I can understand that.

I needn’t have worried about overfull bellies.

Past eleven I lay exhausted, propped up in a bed on all the pillows, a female head on each shoulder, bodies turned towards me, each with a leg over one of mine. Mabel still stroked my pussy-whipped dick, slowly and gently. I believe these women will handle a man’s parts so long as he’s in reach, the same way they treat each other when he isn’t.

I said, “Let’s talk about what you ladies intend to do.”

“We’re listening,” said Madge with a sigh. They were tired, too.

“I understand how you feel about each other. You’re not really Lesbians — I should say, not ‘fully.’ You want a man in your life, if you can get one. Am I right?”

“We want a man,” she agreed, “or two.”

“We’re getting older,” mused Mabel. “If we had a good one we’d stop using the salve.”

“Long enough to catch,” added Madge.

“Are you sure? I don’t think you girls would enjoy being tied down.”

“Tied down?”

“Nothing ties down like babies and growing children.”

“I guess so,” Mabel sighed. “But what’s the use in living if you don’t have children?”

“A very feminine point,” I noted approvingly, “but a bit beyond where I am.”

“Where’s that?”

“Right here. Why don’t you stay here?”

“Stay where?”

“Here. In this motel. Till we find you a better spot.”

Madge raised her head, her eyes narrowing on mine. “We can’t do that.”

“Why not? Hurrying to California?”

She snorted. “Hurrying! Fuckmobile is pretty slow.”

“But cheap,” Mabel added, “and fun.”

I choked. Fuckmobile! “Well, when do you have to get there?”

“Whenever,” Madge answered. “We ain’t on a schedule, Harry.”

“Then stay here a few days, at least. Rest up.”

Madge raised up on her elbow. “What are you saying, Harry? Spell it out.”

I took a deep breath. “I’d like you to stay here. And let me visit.”

She smiled tightly. “Who’ll pay for it?”

“I will, of course. Room, food, laundry, everything. You can get food delivered here if you know where to call. Or you can go out. I’ll leave money for you to use. And I’ll take you out, almost every night. God, I was proud of you two on my arms!”

“Didn’t you say you’ve got a girl friend?”

“Well, yes, but …”

“But what?”

I didn’t want to compare Daisy to these two, but the words were right on my tongue. “She’s nowhere near as generous as you.”

“Generous? Huh! Won’t she suck you, Harry?”

That made me pause. In fact Daisy gives better head than they had so far, though I was anxious to try them while relaxing. Daisy’s tits are half again bigger than theirs, though theirs are a fair handful and as the man said, a handful was all anyone could hold. I haven’t yet poked Daisy’s anus, though she’s been hinting at it. Daisy has never refused sex with me, exactly, and many times she’s been the initiator. Exactly how were these two the more generous?

I smiled internally. That was it exactly. They were twice as generous because there were two of them. But that answer wouldn’t do for Mabel.

“You can say what you want about uncooperative men, but I’ve not seen women who’ll cooperate either. Over a man or under. I have to tell you I never before spent an evening with two girls” — outside Southeast Asia, I didn’t say — “who enjoy doing what you just did.” Indeed these two had enjoyed it. In regard to the Vietnamese whores I was a lot less certain. “You two are rare and precious jewels. I’m not such a fool as to let you get away without at least making you an offer.”

“‘Rare and precious jewels!’” Mabel giggled.

“Harry,” Madge began, “you don’t know —”

Mabel reached across me and punched the soft chest. “Let him speak his piece.”

“I know you prefer the footloose life, to go and come as you please. I won’t try to change that. But wouldn’t you like a little rest, a time to stop and look around instead of worrying about your next meal?”

“We never worry about that,” Madge declared.

“Well, have you thought about what you’ll do when the time comes, as it will if you live, when your beauty has faded and your energy has run out?”

“What?” asked Mabel.

“He means when we’re old hags. We don’t worry about that either, Harry.”

I sighed. “Well, all right. I won’t try to make prisoners of you, though I should for your own good.”

Mabel licked my sweaty shoulder. “You’d like to chain us to this bed, Harry?”

“No. Well, maybe I would. But I know better. Will you at least spend the night with me?”

Madge asked aggrievedly, “What do you mean, ‘for our own good?’”

I shrugged. “Just that. Look at the way you have to eat: like predators in the African savanna, starving between feasts. And do you have any idea how lucky you’ve been? Ten years of fucking your way around the country and nothing worse than a few lumps and a broken rib! It’s incredible you never ran into any of the killers that love to pick up hitch-hikers, especially girls. They caught one the other day and charged him with strangling 37 women.”

Mabel said reasonably, “That’s one advantage of, you know, sticking together.”

“Yeah, I understand two would be harder to squash, but not that much, not for the man who really hates women. You believe your salve keeps off disease, but what good is it if you get dropped in a slum and a gang of boys corner you?”

“Works good with boys,” Mabel announced.

“That’s happened to us more than once,” Madge observed. “Why do you think it’s so bad?”

“Hmm. I see. Like the college kids in Harrisburg, eh?”

Madge chuckled. “We got let out in Detroit once right after the riots. The National Guard stopped us. When they found out we weren’t locals, they put us in the back of a smashed store. When all of them got tired, they let the punks in. Some were too young to squirt, but the teenagers did most of it. That age can really fuck! We stayed there a week.”

“A week? Incredible!”

“They watered us and, you know, fed us,” said Mabel with a grin.

“Like cattle in the breeding chute!”

“Oh, yes! With more bulls than you could count.”

“And you didn’t even get sore, is that right?”

“We did, but the salve fixed it.”

“That salve! You ought to take it to one of the big drug companies. You’d be rich!”

They grinned knowingly at each other. Mabel said, “But it’s, you know, against the law.”

“Those companies know how to fight the government.”

“So do we,” Madge asserted: “ignore it.”

A fake driver’s license! “You’ve never even filed a tax return, have you?”

“We’ve never made any money, Harry.” Madge’s tone was condescending, as if explaining to a child.

I had to sigh. “All right.” I hugged them. Madge’s hand joined Mabel’s, lifting my balls. Ten years of that life, but here safe and sound with my spermatozoa wriggling in both of them. Except of course that their salve had probably snuffed every one. Change that to “hopefully,” in regard to Mabel. They certainly believed it.

“You will get a good night’s sleep, won’t you?” I asked.

“If you’ll order a pizza,” said Madge.

“Pizza, after all that!”

“That was hours ago,” Mabel proclaimed. “And you’ve been working hard, too, you know. Wouldn’t you take a slice?”

As a matter of fact … A moment later I was on the phone to Papa Giorgi, who for a premium price promised to deliver though it was past midnight. I got the girls under the bedcovers and pulled my britches on. The man also brought a six-pack of beer, not very cold, but wet enough for pizza.

I licked cheese and pizza sauce off both pairs of breasts and a pepperoni off each nipple, all above the waist because the acid sauce would burn on sensitive membranes, and submitted to a similar removal from me. Guess where. These girls are truly game for anything, at least if it doesn’t hurt. Finally they admitted to being sleepy and we resumed our previous position, I in the middle among the crumbs with their soft bodies all over me, especially their hands.

I asked as Mabel pulled the chain to turn out the light, “You’ll still be here in the morning, won’t you?”

“Oh, didn’t we tell you?” Madge responded with a yawn. “We’ll stick around for another day or two, if that’s what you really want.”

* * * *

Now it’s nearly 24 hours later and they’re still there. God, I’m exhausted!