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Hidden Journal: The Hitch-hikers [1/2]
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 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?"
--
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