Road Trip - The Central States

The story of Jim Mellon’s amazing and erotic journey across America

by Robert Wolf

Book Two in the Road Trip Trilogy

1988 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Skinny Leopard Media book published in arrangement with the author.

Published by Skinny Leopard Media, Sarasota, FL

Copyright© 2024 by Robert Wolf

Photography is Copyright©2013-2024 by Robert Wolf

All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the express written permission of the author is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Permissions may be sought by emailing your request to bob@roadtripnovels.com.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013954815

ISBN: 978-0-9911906-2-1

Prologue

When Jim Mellon, a simple man, loses his young wife to illness, he is nearly paralyzed with grief and decides to rebuild an old motorcycle that had been his father’s before falling into rust and decay. As he builds, he sees the parallel of needing to rebuild his own life. Complete and ready to ride, Jim decides to ride across the United States through each of the lower forty-eight states to his sister’s home in San Diego. He plans to leave some of his late wife’s ashes in each state.

His first stop in New England is to see Lauren, his former sister-in-law, a woman who looks nearly identical to his late wife. The two fall into a complex relationship. She predicts that on his cross-country journey he will enjoy many adventures and have various sexual relationships as he reconstructs his life. Jim is skeptical, but soon after leaving, he realizes how prophetic Lauren has been. He saves a man from a fire, rescues some children, and stops a gang rape, but not before serious injury that slows down his trip.

Into his trip, Jim meets Kim, a married woman in an open relationship, and falls in love. Kim helps transform Jim, particularly in how he relates to women. Later, Jim stops to help a stranded bus and meets Crystal Lee, America’s country music diva of the day. Having fallen for Kim, he also falls in love with Crystal, and in the process, comes to see new dimensions of love that had been missing in his own life. With Crystal’s mentoring; Jim starts a career in country music that suddenly catapults him to fame.

Jim continues to have his inner demons, at first, what he realizes about his past life versus what he is discovering about his new self, but as his travels continue, he slowly shifts to being more open, more experimental, sharing of himself, and loving. He also learns some things about his late wife he finds unsettling. As Jim rebuilds his life, he finds his new life quite different from his old one.

Chapter 1 - Michigan

Just north of the Ohio-Michigan border is the Coldwater Lake State Park, an undeveloped piece of land with a few trails on a modest size lake. I’d set this as my travel goal because I left Greenville, Ohio, so late in the morning. I pulled into the small park, and took advantage of the fact that my motorcycle could follow a well-trod foot trail to get to a better campsite than those along the road through the park. I setup camp beside the lake, and had an easy dinner from some of my supplies.

After dinner, I meditated for an hour, trying to cleanse my mind of all my confused thinking and the nearly unanswerable questions rolling around in my head. My focus dwelled on the sounds in the park as my eyes glazed over in my elevated state - birds, insects, the leaves in the rustling wind, the water lapping at the shore, and even a jet high overhead.

When I’d finished meditating, I reflected on all the crazy things going on in my head: Karen’s secrets, falling in love with multiple women, the near overload of sex I’d been enjoying, my guilt about my grief fading, my incestuous thoughts about my sister, the feeling of angst over what I felt were changes to my fundamental values around relationships and sex, and my newfound fascination with group sex. There were more, and I let them all scramble my brain for a few minutes, not reaching any conclusion other than I could stew about them all day. Instead, I decided to focus on ‘gratitude.’ I started to list some of the big things I could be grateful for.

I started with Karen’s death - it had been painless for her, just a slow erosion of her strength and life; there are many worse ways to go. I thought of all our friends and their outpouring of condolences to me and the rest of her family who attended the memorial service we held. There was much love expressed in those tragic moments.

I thanked the Universe for Anna for staying with me after Karen’s passing to be sure I could function. My gratitude also went to her idea to ride the motorcycle across the country. I thought of my father, and the joy he briefly had with the Harley Davidson motorcycle before he died; I thanked the Universe for the skills I had to renovate his bike after the years of neglect. I thanked my mother for always being there for me when I was growing up.

I moved on in my thanks to Lauren and the outpouring of love and passion she shared with me. I discovered how in tune the two of us had been for the entire time I’d known her sister. Lauren launched me into my trip with an open and willing mind for new relationships. Each time I saw Lauren I was struck by her appearance; she looked so much like my late wife. Increasingly, I found the memories easier to deal with.

I expressed my thanks for the friends I’d found in the Circle of Love in Pennsylvania, particularly June - one of the women in the Circle that took me under her wing and who became one of my lovers with the other two women in the Circle. She also introduced me to her sister Kim who became my confidant, mentor, and lover.

I thanked the forces in the Universe for having me in the right place at the right time to rescue a farmer from burning barn, and some young children in a tough situation as their small boat drifted far from shore. I felt fortunate to abort a rape by four men against a pretty woman in Alabama.

I expressed my thanks for the help and affection by Attorney Lacie Landers and her daughter Lindy in Louisiana, and then Pat Peyton at her diner in Arkansas. I felt accomplishment in helping the police stop a rash of robberies there too.

My expression of thanks and my enthusiasm grew as I remembered the synchronicity of events leading me to Crystal and into country music in a way I couldn’t have dreamed, and then how we extended the love we shared to her sister. I felt glad that I could provide some entertainment for so many people though my music and concerts, hoping that I might lighten the load of someone grieving in the way I had been for months.

Lastly, I thanked the cosmos for Summer - the wife of a long-time friend, and sometime, months from now, the mother of our child. I had left her bed only hours earlier, and in my mind, I was sure, as she was, that we’d succeeded in our goal of insemination. Maybe this would be the child Karen and I would have had if she’d lived, manifesting in another way. Thank you, Universe!

I prayed, not for salvation or for some ‘thing,’ but for guidance and willingness to follow the path the Universe revealed to me each day. When I finished, darkness had fully enclosed the park and my campsite. Only my small fire lighted the surrounding area, one small light in the darkness. I hoped I gave a thousand-fold as much light to the women I had encountered and loved along my travels. They were slowly transforming me.

My focus on the many things I had to be grateful for helped ease my continuing sorrow for Karen’s loss and clear my befuddled mind sufficiently so I could sleep. I would deal with my questions at another time.

---

I emailed Pete Krakowski. In a day or so I expected to drop in on him on Mackinac Island - a small tourist island between the upper and lower peninsulas of Michigan.

I took a pretty straight shot north, right up the middle of the Lower Michigan Peninsula, varying east or west slightly to stay off the Interstate highways. Gradually, the scene shifted from mostly industrial and residential, to more agricultural, and then to sections of dense forest. The further north I went, the narrower and less maintained the roads were. I felt as though I were fleeing civilization.

I pulled into Mackinaw City about four o’clock. My only stops had been for gasoline and lunch. I found the Star Line Ferry, and booked a seat on the boat. The pretty clerk told me where I could safely leave my motorcycle and rent a locker for my gear. An hour later, on foot, I walked aboard the Joliet - a ferry resembling a sleek looking luxury yacht. I carried my saddlebags from the motorcycle that hooked together to make a passable backpack. About a hundred other passengers boarded with me. Exactly at five o’clock, the boat pulled away from the dock and soon skated across the lake leaving a high plumb of water behind the hydro-jet ferry. Not too far away, the Mackinaw Bridge spanned the water between Lake Michigan and Lake Huron connecting the two parts of the state. The ferry trip to Mackinac Island took only a few minutes.

The resort town on Mackinac Island is small, with most of the town within a short walk of the ferry dock. No automobiles or motorcycles are allowed on the island. I got my bearings and walked along the narrow pedestrian street to the Mackinac Inn and Spa. This was the place my friend Pete Krakowski managed and partly owned with his family.

At the front desk, a pert and efficient young woman informed me that Peter had reserved a top-of-the-line room for me. She also handed me a note in an envelope; I opened it and read: “Welcome - Meet me in the bar at six. Dress code requires a jacket and tie - left them in your room. Ciao. Pete.” I maneuvered up two floors and out to the end of one wing. The room was spectacular - a king-size bed, pleasant sitting area, and a view over the Main Street and harbor that seemed unparalleled. I felt well treated by my friend.

Pete had left a blue blazer and rep tie on the bed. I chuckled, because he assumed I had an adequate shirt. It was only because of Crystal and our entertaining that I did have a nice western-style shirt, although it had been well crushed in my backpack. A search of the room revealed an ironing board and iron; one problem solved. I had to assume blue jeans would be passable, along with my new western boots.

I shaved, showered, dressed, and decided I looked natty as I checked myself in a large mirror on my way out the door. I did notice I’d started to look more like a raccoon from wearing my sunglasses so much in the sun; plus I had a helmet line across my forehead. On the other hand, I had a deep tan and more of a ruddy complexion than I’d had with the pasty tones left by the previous winter in New England and my desk job.

I got noticed as I sauntered into the hotel bar. I’m not sure all the male heads turned in my direction, but I was certain that every female head did - teenager to a grand dame seated in the one chair in the room resembling a throne, her doting family around her. Several women smiled and nodded in my direction; I nodded back with a smile. I made a mental note to myself to dress this way more often.

I heard a shout from behind the bar, “Jim. Jim, down here. I saved a seat for you.”

Pete came out from behind the bar, and we did the mandatory backslapping and shoulder buffs that old male friends do when they haven’t seen each other for several years. Pete and I had been fraternity brothers together in Delta Tau Delta on the University of Delaware campus.

Pete explained he was tending the bar to make up for an unexpected absence of an employee. He ran down some of the stats about the Inn: ninety-six suites or rooms, full dining room doing three meals a day for near eight hundred meals a day, full-service bar, pool, full spa, and about one hundred fifty employees - a mix of part-time and full-time. He explained about the short season from Memorial Day to the middle of October, just after the colorful foliage had fled the trees - it was then the whole island closed down. In the winter, a caretaker or two ensured security of the buildings; however, the only visitors were the intrepid snowmobilers that visited the island by coming across the frozen water.

Pete expressed his condolences again over Karen’s death, and then we moved on to more pleasant topics. He had seen the issue of People magazine with Crystal and my picture on the cover, so that became a major topic of conversation. He saw several people in the large lounge keep looking in my direction; and thought that I’d been recognized as a celebrity. Personally, I didn’t think people recognized me as a celebrity. I thought it was more that I stood out from the others with my deep tan and rugged appearance, and the mix of the jacket and tie with the boots and jeans.

As we talked, Pete offered me dinner at the bar. He joined me in a small steak and Caesar salad. Along with the wine, this proved to be the perfect dinner. Pete kept working the bar, but as the dinner hour passed, things slowed down, and we could talk with fewer interruptions. Many of the staff would rush in, toss a question at him, get an answer, and fly away. He seemed to know everything going on in the inn.

During a lull in activity, I asked, “Are you having fun?”

He laughed and said, “Hell, yes. I wouldn’t trade what I’m doing for anything. This hits me right where I live - constant change, challenge every minute, problems calling for fast creative solutions, beautiful people from all walks of life - working here or as guests, an opportunity to improve my leadership skills, and good money. Now and then I even get to apply my skills as the resident psychologist when some interpersonal problem arises. The rest of the year, I teach at a small college down the peninsula, and do the planning and logistics to keep this place running.”

Pete got me talking about my cross-country trip, where I’d been and where I might go in the remaining states. Eventually, we got around to women, and I allowed him to slowly pull from me some of the events and liaisons of the past couple of months. As a bachelor, Pete looked in amazement at me; “You’re my new idol, not because you can sing, but because you’ve laid about every woman from Vermont to Florida, and back up here to Michigan.” He paused, with a grin, and added, “Oh, wait! You haven’t gotten laid in Michigan yet … well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.” We laughed and jested at each other for another hour or so.

I yawned a few times as the evening slid by; apparently my posture also started to sag. I’d been up a good part of the night two nights ago making love with Summer and had risen early for my ride to the Island. Pete finally observed, “Jim, you are falling asleep in your cups. Why don’t you turn in? I’ll be working the front desk tomorrow morning, so find me there. I’m about ready to close up here; if you haven’t noticed, business falls off rapidly after nine o’clock.”

I nodded at his wisdom, and slid out of the bar, up to my room, and found the bed all too comfortable. I slept like a baby.

---

In the morning, I woke up before most of the small town. I took a brisk walk, stopping by the pretty harbor and letting a small envelope of Karen’s ashes empty into the waters of the lake. I meditated along the shore as the sun started to break above some of the trees in the distance. Sometimes, during or immediately after a meditation, I sensed messages left for me by the Universe … or maybe Karen. Today, I got a couple of messages: exercise, be more open, offer help and friendship, and don’t forget past friends. As I walked back to the hotel, I analyzed each ‘message,’ and thought about what it meant. I developed a ‘to do’ list based on my thoughts.

At the hotel, I found the exercise room. I did a workout, but again carefully stretched or compressed my left side where the bullet wound still healed. I did weights and Nautilus, a chance to really workout some of the specific muscles that had been dormant for a few weeks.

I went back to the room, showered and dressed in casual clothes, and then set off to eat and find Pete. A pretty young waitress served me in the dining room. I could tell she recognized me, and finally she asked, “Are you Jim Mellon … the country singer?”

I shook my head, laughed, and said, “People tell me I look like him all the time, especially since he appeared on the cover of People magazine.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed with a smile but a hint of disappointment in her voice. Her name tag said, ‘Julia.’

I said, “Julia, let’s have some fun. Don’t tell anyone you think I’m that Jim guy, but you can call me by that name when no one else is around. OK? I think I might enjoy it too.” I gave her a conspiratorial grin.

She managed a big smile: “That’d be fun. I can pretend I’m waiting on the famous singer, and you really do look like him. I like to play games anyway so this’ll be fun.”

I thought this could get interesting. She never asked for my real name, and I didn’t volunteer.

Julia went back to waitressing, but with a new friend - ‘Jim.’ After I’d eaten, I scribbled my name and room number on the chit along with a big tip. The message I’d received during my meditation that morning said to be ‘open’ so by giving Julia my room number I was be open and hopeful. I smiled to myself.

Pete was in the final stages of checking out a young couple with a four-year old. All seemed to go well, and I could hear the adults promising to come back next year about this time. In Pete’s business, I knew repeat customers were important.

Pete saw me approaching the desk as the family left. “Oh, man, am I glad to see you.”

I said hello, and raised a brow to respond to his statement.

Pete said, “I’ve had a couple of no-shows by staff today, including my trainer. Do you think you could bluff your way through a day as a trainer and masseur? I’ll pay you!”

I suggested he tell me a little more, and Pete launched into a crisp description of the duties. The trainer would coach an individual customer or family through some exercises and make suggestions for what they might continue later. The masseur gave massages that were booked by the front desk. There was a special massage room near the pool and spa, and some of the massages were given in a guest’s room on a portable table that I’d have to lug up there and use, then fold up and return to the spa.

I recalled in happy detail the massage I’d gotten at the spa near Kim’s home in Florida. If I could replicate that for someone, I knew they would leave a happy customer. As for being a trainer, I still recalled the physical fitness regime I’d gone through as part of the Special Ops team for almost eight years. I warned Pete of my limitation beyond these experiences.

Pete said, “Just make it up as you go along, and if you act as though you know what you’re doing, no one will know you aren’t the real McCoy.” He waved a key under my nose, “This is the key to the spa to use outside posted hours. You’ll find the massage table down there, as well as some sport shorts and a collection of sneakers and shirts with the Inn’s logo on them.” He checked a separate ledger book, and came back to me, “Your first appointment is at eleven; a couple needs a trainer. You also have appointments for massages at one, three, four, and five o’clock. Sometimes I get a request for an after-dinner session too. Check back with me later this afternoon about that time slot. You’re a life saver.”

I found the spa, suited up in the official Inn training outfit, found the massage table, and some oils, and had time to think about what a trainer might do with a couple wanting to get in shape on a short vacation.

Norm and Vilma Ketso came into the spa a few minutes before eleven. I rose and greeted them. We talked for a few minutes about their training goals and what they hoped might come out of my session with them. I had each of them do some squats, lunges, push-ups, tilts, and turns, to sense their agility and current state. Both were seriously overweight and out of shape.

An hour later, the Ketsos left the spa exercise room sweating profusely, and probably sore. Both commended my ‘toughen up’ attitude with each of them, and they promised they’d stick with the program I suggested for them after they left the island. The program followed some of the Army’s basic training.

Pete and I had lunch together. Julia waited on us, and we gave each other knowing glances. Pete saw the subtle interaction and said, “You’ve already had a piece of that haven’t you?” He sat back, as though in utter disgust. However, he was laughing at the possibility.

I politely said, “A gentlemen never tells, but in this case, I assure you that your staff’s virginity remains in tact - barely. I almost took her on the breakfast table this morning, but she worried what the other guests in the dining room might think of her.” Pete smiled. I followed Julia’s trim body towards the kitchen; she deserved special attention.

We went over my afternoon schedule. The four o’clock had cancelled while I’d been with the Ketsos. During our discussion, I learned that all my afternoon customers were women … and, according to Pete, damn fine-looking ones too. He’d also booked me for one evening massage in a guest’s room. His final words to me were, “Well, since you don’t work here, I can’t fire you, but try to leave the reputation of the Inn unsullied as you slave away on those luscious female bodies all afternoon.”

---

Pam Saunders from Chicago was my one o’clock. She arrived in the spa, and my jaw dropped open - she was drop-dead gorgeous; about my age, she wore a short tennis skirt that accentuated her long shapely legs, and a matching top that snugly revealed significant breasts. I suggested she make herself comfortable in whatever she would like to wear while I worked on her, and then lay on the table. I told her I’d excuse myself for a few minutes while she undressed; I gave her two towels to use as a cover ups. I felt a surge of lust and resolved to control my emotion during her massage.

I left the room to get the warm oils and lotion. When I came back Pam was lying on her stomach on the table with her head in a ‘doughnut.’ A small white towel had been delicately arranged over her butt, yet I could immediately tell that she was naked. Why had I ever gotten into computers when I could have been giving massages to women like this?

I dimmed the lights, put on some soothing music, and said a few professional words about how I would proceed for the next fifty minutes. I started on Pam’s feet, working scented oils carefully into each foot and toe, around her ankle, and lower leg, and further up her calves - confining my rubbing and kneading to below mid-thigh. Next, I changed ends, working on her shoulders, and then her back and lower back, spending significant time kneading each muscle group and the surrounding ligaments.

Pam squirmed occasionally on the massage table, her hips grinding into the sheet covering the table. I tried to ignore the potentially sexual nature of her writhing. I shifted to her spinal column and the back of her arms.

As I got near her hips, Pam reached back and pulled the towel away from her buttocks. God blessed a few women in the universe with fine asses; Pam’s was one of them with a shapely and tight curvy set of cheeks. She said in a husky voice, “Don’t forget my ass and thighs. I’d like you to do me … all over.”

I think I muttered some acknowledgement. I took more oil and used both hands to knead the slippery liquid into her cheeks, pulling each way, and pushing deep into her gluteus maximus. Pam moaned some more to express her pleasure. I extended to her upper thighs as well, feeling the tight muscles relax as I kneaded them.

I suggested that she roll over so I could reach other muscles and parts of her body. I offered her the towel, but she rejected the tender. I kept silently repeating to myself, “I am a professional. I will not step out of bounds.” Pam rolled over; her bare pussy fully exposed to my feasting eyes. She watched me take in her nakedness and smiled up at me. We maintained eye contact for several extra seconds, and in that time, I knew we’d have a fun fuck in the very near future.

I did Pam’s scalp, face, and neck, carefully massaging various muscles as I worked my way over her upper body. I did both arms, focusing on each hand right down to her fingertips. Next, I worked on the front of her legs from high-thigh to each foot.

Pam said softly, “You’ve forgotten the middle - don’t miss anywhere.”

I repeated my silent mantra about being a professional as I got more oil. I dribbled some oil from my hands onto Pam’s flat stomach. I got a smile, although her eyes remained shut. I worked from just below her breasts to just above her pubes, doing the sides and hips as I moved around her body.

Pam said, “You’ve forgotten my breasts and … my pussy. Please.” Her voice had a pleading tone to it.

I dribbled warm oil over her two luscious breasts. As I started to rub the oil into her skin, I noted the large areolas and the rising nipples on each mound. I wondered if Pam had an augmentation, and decided she hadn’t because I couldn’t detect any scars or marks of surgery. The more I massaged, the more Pam writhed and hummed in happiness.

After a few minutes, I felt her hand reach out and grab my inflated cock through the thin athletic slacks the inn had provided. I nearly exploded, but resisted that urge. Pam said, “Now, you’ve saved the best for last … my hot pussy.”

I asked, “Are you sure?”

Pam’s eyes opened and engaged mine, “Oh, most definitely yes. I want the full treatment.” She started to masturbate me through my nylon pants. I hardened in response to her touch, and that only seemed to encourage her.

With a copious supply of oil, I rubbed her pubes. Pam spread her legs far apart, giving me complete access to her nether region. I rubbed oil into all the places I’d missed. I didn’t want to move; lest I change the way she could reach my cock. With one hand I massaged the oil into her labial lips, often running my finger through the entire slit in a way I knew would touch her clitoris. When I did that, Pam would jerk and moan. I thought she might have had a small orgasm at one point, but couldn’t be sure.

Pam made eye contact with me in the dim light and said in a happy but slurred voice, “I want you to … to massage my G-spot. I assume you know how to do that.”

I thrust two fingers into her cunt, getting an immediate moan for my efforts. Pam’s midsection rose to meet my fingers as I started to massage her inner body. I rapidly oscillated them in and out of her pussy before I focused on finding the place inside her where she practically floated off the table. Again, I thought Pam had a small spasm.

Pam muttered, “Eat me. I want a cunny attack by your tongue.” After a pause, she added, “Your hands and fingers are wonderful too.”

I used a damp washcloth to warm the area and wipe some of the oil away before I ran my tongue into her again; I knew the lotions would have ruined her natural taste. I stroked down her body with both hands, and moved so I knelt between her legs. I put one leg over each shoulder, lapped at her cunt, and tasted her for the first time. My fingers kept working on the subtle spot inside her that she reacted most too. A few minutes later, I could feel her vaginal muscles spasm around my entrenched fingers; she came again.

She spoke again in a sexy voice, “Why don’t you get undressed. I want an internal massage with this.” By ‘this’ she meant my erection that she’d managed to work up to full strength.

I said something dumb like, “That’s sort of outside the policy of the establishment.”

Pam chuckled and said, “Well, fuck the policy, fuck the establishment, and fuck me - now get busy up here with that beautiful shaft. I want to see it and suck on you.”

Seconds later, I had complied with her wish. She had a marvelously adept mouth and throat, taking me completely inside. I almost came, but resisted. After a few seconds, Pam asked for me to put what I had inside her cunt; I did.

We had a long lovely fuck: soft music playing, the aromas of the various oils filling the air - now mixed with the sexual odors of our juices and bodies. I maneuvered around, pretending to myself that I was merely continuing the massage with another part of my body in another part of hers. Pam moaned a lot. I kept massaging her, only now emphasizing her breasts and other erogenous zones.

After a while, I lifted Pam. She held onto my neck, her legs around me, and her large breasts pushed into my chest. I bounced her on my cock, as we stood in the massage room. Next, I had her stand and lean against the table as I pounded into her from the rear. After that, I lay on the table, and Pam mounted me, taking pleasure from delivering to my mouth each of her breasts. I ignored the taste of the flavored oils and sucked hard on her nipples.

We changed positions a few more times; I was glad I didn’t have an immediate appointment after Pam’s time slot as we were running over her allotted time.

“How should I end?” I asked. I stood holding Pam’s hips, pulling her onto my cock, as she reclined on the massage table.

“Deep inside. I’m on the pill … and I want something to remember you by for the rest of the day.” I could tell by the tone of her gasped words she was near.

From deep within me, I could feel the telltale microscopic spasms starting to signal my own release if I allowed. I warned Pam, “Well, here it comes, you beautiful woman.” I leaned in, and we kissed again; her erect nipples raked across my chest again. In the next few seconds, I swear I could have plotted the journey through my body the semen took - the spasms inside my testes, the explosion through my vas deferens as my juices flowed through my body collecting the heavier seminal fluid, and then the race through my prostate and my penis into Pam’s gorgeous cunt.

I jetted shot after shot of my fluid deep into Pam. She lay back on the table as her own climax arrived - a long loud wail of pleasure escaping from her throat. We were joined in the paroxysm of bliss for those few seconds. Nothing else in the universe existed; there were only the two of us - joined in this act of union and communion.

As both our spasms ceased; we kissed again. Pam said, “Oh, wow! THAT was the best massage I’ve ever had.” She paused and added, “And, THAT was the best fuck I’ve ever had too. You are fabulous!” She pulled me to her, and we kissed some more.

I delicately disengaged, and kissed her. I said with a touch of humor, “Well, Ms. Saunders, you’re a good lay yourself.” I kissed her again. We laughed in humorous relief at our own intense feelings.

I said, “I suggest you shower. There’s a private shower through that door … and I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.” She sat up fully, we kissed some more, and then the two of us walked across the room to the shower. She looked so great without any clothes on.

Pam disappeared after our shower. She slipped on a robe and walked through the inn carrying the rest of her clothes. I thought she had that ‘just fucked’ looked, but then so did I.

---

My three o’clock appointment was with Tina Devoe, a studious looking but shapely dirty blonde about fifty years old. She wore those dark frame rectangular eyeglasses, carefully styled to give a sexy appearance to her eyes. Tina spoke with an English accent, and as I did my introductory spiel, I learned she was from a small town outside Manchester and that she’d recently moved to the United States, although she was a little vague as to why. This weekend trip with a friend was her first ‘time off’ since she’d started working in the U.S. a year earlier.

I left the room, ostensibly to get the oils and lotions I’d need for the massage, but actually to give a few minutes of ‘private time’ while the man or woman prepared themselves for the massage. When I returned to the room, Tina was naked, sitting on the table waiting for me. The modesty towel I’d left for her sat unused at the end of the bed.

I got aroused instantly although I struggled to forget her nakedness - and how sexy and fuckable she looked. I reminded myself that I’d just had an unforgettable fuck with Pam, but that didn’t seem to help.

I got into the massage of Tina, repeating the steps and actions that I’d found pleasure from in massages I’d had and what I’d just done with Pam. I worked carefully and professionally over Tina’s lily-white skin. Soon, she too started to moan and writhe around on the table although I’d done nothing sexually overt to her.

When Tina rolled over for me to do her front side, there was no pretext by her about the massage. She wanted me. Before I even reached for the oils, she directed me to eat her pussy. “I want a tongue massage … down there;” she pointed at her widespread pussy, the pink lips of her labia and the dark hole of her vagina inviting my attention. “… and up here on my breasts.”

I did what I’d been directed to do, and Tina writhed into my every move with some moves of her own. Soon, I was naked - again. And, soon too, my cock was embedded deep into Tina’s tight pussy.

I applied all the Tantric techniques Kim had taught me weeks earlier, plus generated a few of my own that seemed to bring pleasure to the two of us. I thought of the quote from Anais Nin’s diary, “What everyone forgets is that passion is not merely a heightened sensual fusion, but a way of life that produces, as in the mystics, an ecstatic awareness of the whole of life.” Our senses raised, our whispered words inspiring the erotic nature of the other, and our organs grinding together in joy and happiness.

Several orgasms later, I ejaculated the conclusion to our time together deep into Tina’s cunt. She in turn flooded the two of us with her girl juice.

We showered together, and Tina left as Pam had: nary a care in the world, naked beneath her short hotel robe, and carrying the few other clothes she’d arrived with. She allowed as how she wished she could sign up the following day but that she had to leave and travel back to her job in California. I would miss a repeat performance with her.

---

Daisy Wheaton came into the spa at five o’clock. She’d already been in the sauna for a stint, so had a rosy appearance to her skin. When I touched her, I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Daisy had never had a massage before though she looked older than I was. She said a friend she’d met at the Inn had insisted and paid for her experience. Because she was new to all this, I took extra time to explain the protocols and steps I’d go through. She listened with rapt attention, and when I was done, she appeared eager to proceed.

I left to ‘get the oils and lotions’ while Daisy prepared herself as I’d suggested. When I came back, she was face down on the table, still clad in her thong with the towel over her derriere. I initially sensed some relief that I wouldn’t have to ‘perform’ sexually as I had with Pam and Tina. I’d treat the thong like a chastity belt.

Instead, however, my magic touch again produced a horny woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. We started fucking only about ten minutes into the massage session. Daisy explained that I had touched her in all the ‘right’ places, and that was all it took. We went another hour before I enjoyed my own climax. Daisy had about a dozen orgasms in that time, and I set a record for the longest time I’d eaten pussy.

After our showers, Daisy dressed and left. I went to find Pete where he was tending the bar. I wanted some soothing wine to come to grips with what had happened that afternoon. As I entered the lounge area, I saw Pete light up with a smile when he saw me. He gestured me over, and by the time I got to the bar he tended he had a Chardonnay on ice waiting for me.

Before I could say anything, Pete spoke, “I don’t know what you did to our massage clients this afternoon, but they were all raving about you. The two that will still be here signed up again - but only if you are the masseur. I assume from their requests that things went well with each of them.”

I just sort of nodded. Pete suddenly got that look of sudden realization - the eyes widen, the head moves back slightly, and the mouth opens into more of a gape. He stared at me, and then spoke again, “Oh, shit. Jim, you had sex with one of them.” He watched my reaction before he added, “Two of them … oh, fuck; you had sex with ALL of them?” His words were as much a statement as a question.

I just nodded with a slight smile of contentment as I sipped my wine and looked out across the bar to the dining room. I didn’t regret anything either; I wondered if I should have some reservations about fucking three women I didn’t know. Well, I knew them pretty well now. The experience with each of them had been pleasant, just not rewarding on any level other than the satisfaction of mutual lust. If I’d started the afternoon horny, I surely wasn’t now.

I recalled my visit to Pennsylvania. Hadn’t I had sexual relations with June, Jan, and Trish, although I hadn’t known two of them before my visit? Trish I barely knew from her marriage to my friend Bob. Was this afternoon with Pam, Tina, and Daisy so different? This would be something to think about later.

Pete stammered and stuttered, trying to get a few words out. I guess he was amazed as much as horrified in some way that I’d screwed some of his inn’s guests.

Finally, Pete got his wits about him. “Do you know who those women are?” The question had a certain punch to it, so I knew they weren’t just casual guests.

“No, please tell me.”

Pete said, “Tina Devoe is some big wheel in Sony Music from the west coast - LA. Daisy Wheaton is a socialite from Gross Point; she has more money than God, supports aspiring artists including many names you’d know, and is a big wheel in a couple of national charities. Your first appointment was Pam Saunders - she’s the CEO of an outfit that now goes by CCC - it used to be the Chicago Consulting Company, but as they grew, they changed to just the initials; they’re big in media and marketing - billion-dollar big. She and Tina probably know each other.” He thought for a minute and added, “In fact, all three of them probably travel in the same circle - important women having a high impact on the world.”

After another pause, Pete said, “I sure hope you’re going to be around tomorrow. We do like to please our customers. I’m jealous as all hell, but you apparently made three women very happy - and I don’t know how you did it. Mr. Stamina, that’s what I’ll call you from now on.”

Just then, I saw Tina coming towards me in the mirror behind the bar. She could have won the Best Dressed In The Country award at that moment; she was beautiful. She’d intentionally come out of her way from the dining room to talk to me. When she arrived, she ran one finger across my back and neck in a sexy way. I saw Pete gape. I turned and got a thousand-watt smile and a brief kiss. She said, “I just wanted to thank you for the beautiful … massage … this afternoon. I hate to leave, so I’ll miss another session tomorrow - a great deal; maybe we could book a special session when you’re in my neighborhood.” She looked hopeful.

The next words from her shocked me; “Meanwhile, here’s my business card. Call me,” she smiled and added, “Or have your agent call me - Terry Ross, isn’t it? We’d like to do a record deal with you … and Crystal too. I got good reports about what the two of you did in concert in Louisville and Indianapolis. Nashville Records is good, but we can do better up at the corporate level with you two. We can build on what you’ve done in ways you wouldn’t believe.” As an afterthought she added, “And, we can be very generous.”

I nodded numbly and smiled back. She’d never given any indication that she’d recognized me - or knew of my new celebrity identity.

I said a few words acknowledging her request, we kissed again - this time with a little tongue, and she sashayed away with an extra wiggle in her walk. Pete just stared between the departing high-class ass in tight designer jeans and high heels, and me. Tina knew how to flaunt it.

I looked at Pete with an obvious question on my face. He said, “I didn’t tell her.” He held up a hand as though taking an oath, “I swear.” I knew he was telling the truth. Tina knew her celebrities.

Pete and I settled down to drink a little, and have dinner served at the bar while he worked. About eight-thirty he leapt up and said, “Oh, shit. We almost forgot your evening massage appointment. It’s complementary, ‘on the house’ so to speak. You’ve already met her, so it won’t be that much of a surprise. I owe her, and this is what she asked for this evening.”

I looked at Pete waiting for him to reveal the name. He grinned back, and clearly would not tell me a thing more, except it was at nine o’clock in Room 443. I wondered a little, since this was on the top floor, and I’d learned some of the staff had rooms up there.

A half hour later, I knocked on the door of room 443, my trusty massage table beside me. To my surprise, Julia, my cute waitress from the past couple of days, opened the door. She wore cutoffs that showed off her long sexy legs, and a white shirt tied off in a revealing manner beneath her bare breasts. I got a smile. She said in a sexy voice, “Oh, Jim Mellon, the answer to my dreams. Please come in.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed, but I brought the table into her room and leaned it against the wall. “Julia, this is a surprise. Pete said you had complementary massage coming.” I started by playing it straight.

Julia came up close, inside my personal space. She put both arms around my neck, and leaned up and kissed me on the lips. I automatically held her hips and kissed back. She said, “I’ve always wanted a massage from a celebrity; so, this was a rare opportunity. I mortgaged my soul to Peter for this hour, and he’s a good guy so I might even let him collect.” She gave me a sly look.

I could tell she had no doubt about my real identity. We weren’t game playing about my celebrity status any further. I wondered whether everyone on this small island knew I was hanging out up here - out of the limelight. I asked how she knew.

Julia smiled and said, “I’m a big fan of country music and People magazine.” She kissed me again and then backed away. “I studied the photos in the magazine after I met you at breakfast, and I did some homework about what the entertainment websites said might be your next destination. Northern Michigan seemed an obvious conclusion, although nothing I read said that.”

I set up the table in the room’s open space as I gave Julia the same spiel about how to prepare for the massage. She just stood there barefoot and slowly started to untie her shirt with very deliberate moves, each move revealing more and more of her buxom body. I turned on the bedside radio to some dreamy music, and dimmed the room’s lights. When I turned back to focus on Julia, she was nude. She came up to me and kissed me again; I kissed back. I had an idea where this evening would end up.

I did give a credible massage before we made love, but then Julia was massaging parts of my body too. Julia had the enthusiasm of youth on her side. I was driven by curiosity about what she’d be like.

After we had sex, we lay on Julia’s bed panting after our sexual exertions. She said, “Thank you, Jim Mellon. I can go to my grave knowing that the best fuck in my life also came from someone famous. I don’t know how you know what you know about women, but … well, you should patent that stuff - all those techniques. Every single move you make turned me on, lifted me higher, and sent me to some other universe where the only important thing seemed to be how long I could make my orgasm last, and boy did you know how to make them last. Every woman in the country will want to get fucked by you.”

I must have looked pained from her remarks, because she continued, “Oh, Jim. Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover or talk to the tabloids. I did tell Pete I knew about you being a celeb. I have my own aspirations to get into the movie industry, so maybe I’ll join you someday. If you can ever point me in that direction I’d appreciate it, but no obligation.” She squirmed a little beneath me to heighten the effect of our still joined genitals. She rolled her eyes in physical happiness.

As our breath came back, our hands started to fondle and pet our exposed erogenous zones. Julia said, “I asked Pete why you’d ended up here - at the Inn - being a substitute trainer and masseur. He said you’d tell me more than the People magazine article did.”

And so I did. We lay there, and I gave Julia the fifteen-minute version of my life story and the road trip. An hour later, we had sex again. I surprised myself being able to respond a fifth time in the same day; however, Julia was young, vibrant, and luscious, and she knew which of my buttons to push to get me going again. Some of the buttons involved the talented use of her mouth. After we finished round two, we went to sleep with Julia happily cradled in my arms. She purred.

---

Sunday was similar to the day before. Somehow, I’d restored my sexual prowess and gotten horny again overnight. Pam and Daisy showed up for their extended afternoon appointments with large smiles and high expectations for an erotic two hours. In their comments, I learned they knew each other and Tina as well; the day before, Pam had told the other two about her fabulous fuck, and then I was really in demand. One other woman came in for a ‘straight’ massage.

Julia had made a date with me for the evening, knowing as she did that I’d have had at least two fucks earlier in the day. I did not disappoint any of them. That day, I took time to learn a little more from each woman about how they liked to be treated in their love making: rough, loud, tender, oral, kinky, sex stories, dirty talk, fantasies, and more. I drew out of each woman her preferences. We had fun - and I learned a few things to try in the future on other women: places to touch, the right pressure to use, whether to hold or rub, and whether to use fingers, hand, or tongue.

Pam and Daisy left Monday morning, but not before finding me to say goodbye in some intimate way. Each gave me their business card, asked that I look them up in their hometown, and gave me a conspiratorial wink. Clearly, they both knew my celebrity status, and that being a masseur was not my real profession. Now, I really worried about the tabloids. I had to stop screwing every woman I met … didn’t I?

Julia brought me to a complete stop that evening with a simple question: “Did you like fucking my mother as much as me?”

“Huh?” My jaw must have been hanging down to the floor.

Julia looked surprised. “Oh, I thought she told you. Daisy Wheaton is my mother. We’re pretty open with each other, so I knew you’d given her the best fuck of her life before we got together that first night. You came with high recommendations, including rave reviews from her friends Tina and Pam.”

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Pete said your mother was loaded. What are you doing working here?”

Julia snorted, “My Mom and Dad are teaching me the value of work and money, or so they think. I have to make it on my own before they’ll help.” She paused and added, “I’ve been a bit of a leech up until this summer. I don’t think they liked the direction I’d been headed.”

I just nodded.

Julia continued, “I moved out after last summer - well, my parents sort of forced me out on my own. I had a girlfriend in Montana, so went to live with her. I worked over the winter at a ski slope near Helena and did a little waitressing nearby, and then landed this job for the summer. I’d been here as a guest years ago. I guess I’m shaping up in Mom’s eyes; this trip we felt closer to each other than since I turned fourteen, and even started sharing some of our intimate encounters with each other.”

Oh, my God, I’d found another mother-daughter pairing who I’d made love to. Did I have some kind of a sign painted on my forehead that drew these people to me? True, they were both outstanding women and a pleasure to make love with, but I didn’t expect any behind the scenes relationships.

My fourth day on the island, I played the tourist, prowling through each shop, taking a hundred photos, and mailing a few postcards to friends and loved ones including some of the women I’d met along my road trip. As I sat at the bar Monday night having a drink with Pete, Julia came by after the dining room closed. She gave me a little smile to indicate she wanted my amorous attention yet again. I nodded, and we set a time for her to come to my room in an hour.

---

Tuesday morning, Julia had me autograph each of her breasts with a Sharpie before she dressed in the morning - Jim on her right breast, just below the nipple, and Mellon on the left. “I want it to last more than a few hours,” she explained regarding the indelible Sharpie. She also had me take a picture of my handiwork with her cell phone. I wondered whom she’d share it with. She again promised not to talk to the tabloids. Just to be sure, I had scribbled my signature.

Julia also kissed me goodbye in a passionate way, but with tears in her eyes. She told me, “Jim Mellon, I hope our paths cross again. You are easy to fall for, and I’d hate to think I wasted all the psychic energy I’ve spent on you the past few days. I want you as a long-time friend … and fuck-buddy.” She tucked her regular, off-island address and cell phone number in my pocket. After a kiss, she left for her waitress job in the Inn’s dining room. I put her data on my phone before I lost the piece of paper.

Pete and I lingered over a cup of coffee out on the veranda of the Inn. The horse drawn carriages were already out on the streets carting the tourists around the small island. I thought the place was picturesque enough to come back to someday, maybe even on a honeymoon. Pete thought I should come back and bring all the women I felt an attraction for at one time - he wanted to see the resulting orgy and volunteered to help orchestrate things.

Pete helped me carry my gear down to the ferry dock. I boarded the ferry for the mainland, and soon waved goodbye to him across a widening gap between boat and shore. As I waved, Julia came running down to the dock to join Pete in waving goodbye. The two of them stood there looking happy together. The last I saw of them that day was the two of them walking back to the Inn with their arms around each other. Now that was an unexpected ending; something was going on there I hadn’t been privy to. I wondered why Pete orchestrated my time with Julia if the two of them had something going on between them: more questions without answers.

I retrieved my motorcycle and the rest of my gear from my locker, repacked things for traveling, and headed across the Mackinaw Bridge to Upper Michigan - the longest suspension bridge in the Western hemisphere. The day was warm and sunny, traffic was light, the Universe felt friendly, and I was happy.

Chapter 2 - Wisconsin

In late morning, I crossed the Mackinaw Bridge and hugged the shore of Lake Michigan for the rest of the day. With the late start after my midnight escapades on Mackinac Island with Julia, a stop for lunch, and my resolution to take it slow and enjoy the scenery; I got only part way across the Upper Peninsula.

I camped overnight at a state forest. The temperature dropped to around fifty degrees. My sleeping bag did its magic in keeping me at just the right temperature; but getting up in the morning proved to be an onerous chore. I didn’t bounce out of bed the way I did on warmer days. I’d become soft in the middle.

Just after dawn, I took a long slow run for an hour along trails through the forest; that warmed me up. I got in a meditative trance while running. Due to my gunshot, this was my first long run in many weeks. Back at the campsite, I built a fire, and did some other exercises, trying not stress my left side. I prepared some breakfast from my collection of freeze-dried food, and dressed warmly when the time came to start riding on the motorcycle.

I started to sing my widening repertoire of country songs for which I knew all the words. I sang into the facemask of my helmet, so I could actually hear myself over the rush of the wind and the rumbling sound of the Harley Davidson. I liked the whole idea of being a country music singer. The entertainment industry had always fascinated me, and now I had an open door. I wondered if I’d been led to this door by some unusual force in the universe, and maybe by an angel named Karen.

I tested how important finishing my ride across the forty-eight lower states was to me, and decided I still needed to complete the trip. This trip would give me closure about Karen’s death and allow me to have accomplished something ‘big’ in my life, not that the sudden stardom wasn’t also big. Here was this country music career that I could ride for a while. Maybe I would try to do more music or concerts during my trip; despite my fear of singing in front of a large audience, I did have fun singing with Crystal.

I got to Green Bay about four o’clock in the afternoon, just as the sun broke out and the temperature started to rise again. The most obvious attribute of the city was their unrivaled support of their NFL football team. Green and yellow banners were everywhere along my route with the ‘G’ logo of the team. I rode by Lambeau Field stadium, just so I could say I’d seen it. Later in my stop in Green Bay, I learned that the stadium held about 60,000 people - this in a city with a population of about 100,000. I guessed they had a lot of visitors for home games. The number of motels around suggested that as well.

After a stop to get directions on my iPhone, I found Lloyd’s Guitars where I splurged and became the owner of a used Blackbird Rider steel string travel guitar, case, extras, and a ‘how to’ book. The travel guitar was a fraction of the size of a regular acoustic guitar with a shortened neck and a much smaller body - a carefully crafted sound box to render close to normal guitar sounds but with a fraction of the size. I had big plans for the next phase of my country music career. I wanted to be able to play the guitar the way Crystal did.

I chose an early dinner at a restaurant that had Wi-Fi. After ordering, I used my laptop to check my emails. One email from Kim Hume stood out above all the rest and made my heart soar.

To: JBM38@kenseltelcom.net

From: KHume@tsi.com

Subject: Want to see you

Sent from my iPhone

Hardly a minute goes by that I haven’t thought of you since you left, particularly with your new career in country music. I’m so proud of you.

I have this weekend free, and I am hoping that you’ll have some time for me, and will be some place where we can see each other. Wherever you are, I can fly to you Friday afternoon but have to leave early Monday. Where are you? Ron gives his blessing to my trip and says hello; he has to be in Washington over the weekend.

Call me if this works for you. Leave message if I don’t answer. I’m in meetings all day.

I Love You,

Kim

I couldn’t get my cell phone out of my pocket fast enough. My call to Kim went into voicemail, but I left an enthusiastic message for her to fly to Milwaukee, and that I’d meet her there if she gave me details about her arrival.

Just before I got on my bike, my cell phone vibrated indicating I had another email. I read the screen and my heart started to beat a lot faster.

To: JBM38@kenseltelcom.net

From: KHume@tsi.com

Subject: Want to see you

Sent from my iPhone

{/i}Got your voice mail. I am in a meeting that looks as though it will never end - strategic planning for my company so I have to be here … probably will go until ten tonight.{/i}

BUT I am so excited I can hardly stand still because we can see each other tomorrow. Just hearing your voice made me wet! You know what that means.

I will be at the general aviation side of the Milwaukee airport about 4:30 p.m. I’ll have the jet, so you can watch me land if you’re there. If OK with you, I’ll arrange downtown hotel - I have plans for us!

Did I mention how excited I am to see you again!!!!

I Love You A Lot!

Kim

Now, that’s the kind of email that makes a guy feel all warm and mushy inside, and that’s exactly how I felt. I broke into a big smile. I wanted to tell someone how happy I felt, but there was no one around.

After my early dinner, I rode southwest out of Green Bay for an hour to the shore of Lake Winnebago. In the camping area, I avoided the RV sites and hunted for a remote spot that was picturesque and quiet. The campsite I settled on after riding around in the dusk appeared to be near a snowmobile trail and away from the roads and parking areas. The wooded site had a small clearing with a picnic table and sat about two hundred feet from the lake. A half-dozen ice fishing huts also had been stowed nearby for when they could be towed out on the frozen lake. This time of year, the place was not on the normal trail system for the park; I expected no one would find me there.

I set up my tent, built a fire in a fire pit and enjoyed the warmth as the temperatures dropped. As the sunset, I took an envelope of Karen’s ashes down to the lakeshore. A breeze from behind me carried the ashes into the lake where they became lost in the sparkling ripples. I sat and meditated by the lake, looking at the pink clouds reflected in the lake. The ripples soon hypnotized me and carried me to a place of thoughtless peace. The inner stillness remained until the color in the clouds disappeared and night really began to fall.

That was a preview of Road Trip - The Central States. To read the rest purchase the book.

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