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Hidden Journal:  The Hitch-hikers [2/2]




NOTICE:  The following file is one of an ongoing series, transcriptions
of files decrypted from the hidden journal of Harrison Everett Stone.
For a summary of their provenance see the initial file, D910412.ZEN,
included in the release, "Hidden Journal:  First Files."

--Kellis.  Copyright 1998





File D9104134.ZEN

<Tuesday, March 14, 1972 (Continued)>
    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 plumbers friend toward Mabel's cuntal regions in the
manner of a fencing foil.
    She saw me, turned and threw the plumbing device 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 pina 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 pina 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.  <Fuck>mobile!  "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!


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