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US Highways

Devon Layne


It started with an epiphany. I’m a author. I could do this from anywhere. So why am I doing it from a basement in Seattle?

Six months later, I’m on the road with a pickup truck and travel trailer, letting the highways and byways of America take me wherever and to whomever they would.

There’s no destination, only the journey. And, Alice has convinced me that I should tell the “real” story of my life on the road.

Wonders of My World

US Highways

Suddenly cut loose from life as he’d known it, Aroslav strikes out aimlessly across the country, towing a small travel trailer behind his pickup truck. All he knows for certain is that he hates freeways. Freeways are for people who have a destination. For Ari, it is not about the destination, but about the journey.

Only a few weeks away from his one-time home in Seattle, he stops to have his truck washed by a team of bouncing cheerleaders fundraising for their team. Honestly, he only stopped because the truck was dirty, not because his mind was. Much to his surprise—and pleasure—he meets the young woman who will become his friend, lover, and muse as he remembers the journey of his life.

Pretending to be a travel memoir, U.S. Highways jumps from sexual escapade to impossible love affair as Aroslav makes his first circuit around the country, ultimately fulfilling a lifelong fantasy of following U.S. Highway 20 from coast to coast. And, if you believe him, fulfilling a number of other lifelong fantasies along the way! Who wouldn’t want a cute submissive blonde bikini model running around naked in his life? Unless sex was off limits. Sigh.

American Backroads

After eighteen months on the road, Aroslav continues his journey, noting that he missed a few states on his first time around. His muse, Alice, decides to invite herself along and spice up the journey a bit. Meeting old friends and relatives keeps Ari moving, but remembering adventures from his youth sometimes holds him transfixed, unable to separate one reality from the other.

One of the most productive writing times in Ari’s career, many of his characters trigger memories of the real people and events that inspired them. Whether they are all completely true or are just the way Ari wants to remember them is open for debate. After all, this is the memoir of the avatar of the pseudonym of the alter ego of the author. Believe what you dare!

Based on the true story of Aroslav’s erotic journey around America as told to Devon Layne.

Border Crossings

Aroslav was in Hawaii for the winter when he realized he was halfway to Japan. That inspired him to keep going, traveling through sixteen foreign countries as he worked his way around the world. And as he worked his way through half a dozen beautiful women. Now fully illustrated with photos from his journey (and a few filled in by others), Aroslav touches down in Japan, Thailand, Greece, Romania, Czech Republic, Germany, and Iceland—each with its own adventurous woman to expand his horizons.

Pretending to be a travel diary, this over-the-top adventure story is the memoir of the avatar of the pseudonym of the alter ego of the author. You can only believe what you dare to believe. The story of his journey is interwoven with fond memories from a past he might have lived.

Based on the true story of Aroslav’s erotic journey around the world as told to Devon Layne.

Short Stories

“Good Vibrations.” This short story in In a Few Words could be a chapter in another volume of Wonders of My World, Based on the true story of Aroslav’s erotic journey around the world as told to Devon Layne.

Aroslav finds himself caught up in the world of porn as a peripheral contributor. But he gets deeper as he meets a stripper who wants to show him the ropes. She happens to love books!

“Whatever NOLA WANTS.” This short story in In a Few Words could be a chapter in another volume of Wonders of My World, Based on the true story of Aroslav’s erotic journey around the world as told to Devon Layne.

Aroslav continues to explore the world of porn as a peripheral contributor at the convention of the adult entertainment industry. Can an invitation to visit New Orleans be what it appears to be?

Copyright ©2017 2021 by Elder Road LLC

Starting the Adventure

I kept putting off letting this story out because I’m not the kind of guy to kiss and tell. And after I’ve told a story a few times, I forget what part happened and what part I made up. As I told my daughter (also a writer) some time ago, my characters are often more real to me than the real people I meet.

“Dad, Dad!” she said. “Back in the 1800s, life was hard and people worked in terrible conditions to make a pittance of a living.” Did she think I lived back then? “But at the same time dirty urban life was sapping the will to live out of people, opium became more popular. Because people could go to the opium den and they’d live in the world in their heads for a while. That world was so much better than the reality they existed in. Dad, words are our opium.”

When did my daughter become so wise?

Then Alice convinced me to write the story of my trip around the world. Border Crossings was a crack in the dike of my memories. Soon, everything came flooding out. When she finished reading the story, she encouraged me to write more about my time wandering around the country. And Alice can be very persuasive.

So, here are the first adventures of Aroslav—the avatar of the pseudonym of the alter ego of an author. (Parse that!) There’s a lot of story and sightseeing in U.S. Highways—kind of a travelogue through my life—but there’s sex, too, even if it’s slow at times. That’s what my life is like. And when I started writing about the wonders of my world, it jogged my memories of some of the incredible women I’ve known and loved in my life.

I get sidetracked a lot and those memories from long ago become as important to me as the story I’m living in the moment. Bear with me. It’s my life. Based on the true story of my travels and memories, only the names, places, and events have been changed to protect the innocent and to keep several beautiful women and from hunting me down to call me a liar.

The problem is that I’ve fallen in love with each of them.

A Few Years Ago: Pushed from the Nest

Treasure and I hadn’t slept in the same bed in a year. I spent most nights asleep in the recliner in my office. Had my pillow there and a blanket. It was a big empty house for two people now that Maddie had her own apartment. Mostly, we talked about proper editorial use of terms in the manuscripts we edited and the books I designed. Neither one was paying the bills and we were dipping further into our retirement savings. That formed the other half of our conversations.

One thing had remained constant through the years. I still got up at five. My stories are full of characters who get up early in the morning. Lately, it took me about five minutes before I could stand up straight enough to walk to the bathroom after I got out of bed. My back had been deteriorating steadily for several years, even after we bought the $10,000 bed I mistakenly thought was going to be our new playground.

I picked up the newspaper from the front steps—something I could usually do without having to get dressed. I stumbled to the kitchen and made coffee while I scanned the headlines and read the comics. I made a second pot at six-thirty, frothed hot milk for Treasure’s latte, and woke her up. I left the newspaper and coffee beside the bed and went to make breakfast.

Those morning wakeup calls are still some of my fondest memories. That was when Treasure would smile and thank me for the best cup of coffee ever.

The house was expensive. The mortgage was high. The maintenance was a killer. I grumbled in the kitchen that I could work from anywhere. Why was I writing from a basement in Seattle? I should be out seeing the country while I was still young enough to enjoy it. Treasure and I had always talked about traveling more. We could live on the road cheaper than maintaining this monstrosity that I’d come to view as a prison.

“You should go do it,” Treasure said.

I hadn’t even realized she’d come from the bedroom. Nor that I was talking aloud. She wore a robe. I hadn’t seen her naked in a long time. I detected a slight emphasis on the word ‘go’.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” I said. “We should get the house on the market, I suppose. And see a lawyer.”

She nodded.

It took six more months to get things ready. We divided up what we wanted, settled our finances, and filed for divorce. July first, I moved into my new home—a sixteen-foot travel trailer, towed by a new F150.

Then a miracle happened.

I woke up after my first night in the little trailer and made coffee. I just got up and went to the stove and made coffee. It took me a few minutes before I realized that I had no back pain.

I was a full time RVer and eschewed freeways. I decided to follow some of the old network of highways that cross this nation. This is based on the true story of my travel down U.S. Highways since then.

17 August 2013

I was on my own, cutting through Montana with nothing but the road, my thoughts, and me. How’d Tony put it in The Prodigal? “Me, myself, and I. Which asshole would you like to speak to?” I’d been through road construction all through Montana. Interstate highways were for people who had a destination. I had only a journey. This U.S. Highway was a one-lane dirt track fifty miles long, occasionally interrupted by a stretch of pavement. I drove behind a pilot truck with a sign that said ‘Follow me’, and the line of cars and trucks—mostly trucks—followed in a cloud of dust. I was glad my trailer was safely in an RV park while I went exploring Glacier National Park. I couldn’t have pulled it over Going to the Sun Road in the park anyway, and this construction outside the park would have been murder on it. By the time I got out of the construction zone my shiny black F150 was two-tone dust and mud.

I’m sure my throat was the same color. I needed coffee.

McDonald’s serves a decent cup of Joe. I’d had it with paying $3.50 a pop for an espresso when I can make drip coffee in the trailer that is just as good. If it’s decent coffee, I’ll drink it. Even half-way decent. And McDonald’s almost always has clean restrooms. I was bursting when I got there. My bladder’s only good for thirty miles or thirty minutes—whichever comes first.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I spotted girls in short-shorts and t-shirts jumping up and down across the street trying to attract people to their carwash to support the high school cheerleaders. Carwash? Cheerleaders? Sounds like a movie I watched once. I took my dollar-a-cup coffee and drove across the street.

“You do trucks?” I asked the woman who came out to meet me as I drove in.

“This is Montana, cowboy. Bay 2.”

“How much.”

“It’s donation. You know, thousand bucks or whatever spare change you’ve got lying around.” I laughed, handed her a ten and pulled into the spot she pointed to. Even if all they did was rinse the top layer off, it would be worth it. Three juvenile girls ran up, reminded me to close the windows and told me I didn’t need to stay in the truck. I got out with my coffee and watched them go to work. Apparently, the upper classmen were out on the street hustling business because they were… better at hustling, I guess. These little girls were just that. Little girls.

“Is this for the freshman cheer squad?” I asked the woman who had taken my money.

“Freshmen, JV, and varsity,” she responded. “The older girls get the younger ones to do as much of the work as possible.”

“Are you the coach?”

“I’m the mother of one of the coaches. I don’t even have a girl on the squad and I get stuck out here supervising the teenies.” We laughed and talked a bit. Turns out her daughter, the coach, wasn’t much older than the varsity cheerleaders.

“I’m afraid those little girls can’t even reach the hood of the truck.”

“They are little. We’ll let them work on what they can reach and the seniors will show up eventually. You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“Hurry is a suburb of Seattle I left behind me months ago.”

It was obvious when the seniors showed up. I don’t know what it is, but a miracle occurs between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. I guess it’s called puberty. As I looked around, I could pretty much pick out the freshmen, sophomores, and juniors. But when the seniors showed up to take over scrubbing the truck, there was a whole different game to watch. The little girls had grown into young women.

I moved to the back of the bay so I could watch without being on display to the entire community. Nobody needed to see an old dude with a cup of coffee and a hard-on watching cheerleaders getting wet. They all introduced themselves with a wave and a little cheer jump. Julie was about five-two and robust. She hadn’t lost all her baby fat, but there wasn’t an ounce of it I wouldn’t have been willing to nibble. She was bubbly, cheerleaderly, and… well, the bouncy parts bounced… a lot. Megan was blonde, about four inches taller and thinner all over except in the boobs. Here’s the girl that screws the quarterback. And when he’s not looking she does the halfback, tackle, and tight end. Correction. She has the tight end. It was encased in skin-tight pink hot pants through which I could clearly see her bikini line. I reminded myself she was seventeen and I didn’t even have Montana plates on my truck.

Then there was Alice. I looked past her at first glance and then I came back to her. Shit, she’s tall! Black hair, smallish tits and thin, but with such a tiny waist that her hips flared out nicely. But tall. Yeah. Close to six feet. I’d either look up at her or really get a good look at her. I’ve always had a thing for tall thin girls. It wasn’t just her shape that drew my attention, but the almost cat-like grace with which she moved, playfully tossing a sponge to her friends or dodging the spray across the truck.

“Okay, watch out!” Megan shouted. “I’m going to spray the conditioner on.”

Conditioner? My truck was going to come out shiny and silky soft. I chuckled as Alice ducked over toward me to avoid the spray.

“Hey. That’s a nice truck. New?”

“Yeah. Pretty new. It was a dirty little pig, though.”

“It’s going to be all shiny now. Are you from around here?”

“Oh. No. I live on the road. My address is on my license plate.”

“That’s just a license number.”

“Yep. I pull a travel trailer and just go wherever the truck points.”

“I want to come.”

“I’m… uh… not sure I can do anything about that.”

“Oh! You have a dirty mind.”

“That’s how I get paid.”


“I’m a writer. I write mysteries, thrillers, and erotic romances.”

“You’re kidding. Those are my three favorite things to read.”

“Aren’t you a little young for erotic romance?”

“I’m eighteen, so I’m not jailbait if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I just… well, I know you are in high school.”

“I got a late start. Okay, I flunked seventh grade. I’d just found out about sex and was a little distracted. I got my act back together, though. I’ve got grades good enough to stay on the team and get into college. I got early acceptance to the University already.”

“Well, even if you aren’t jailbait, it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to talk to you here about erotic romances.”

“What if I told you there was a place you could talk to me about it?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m a year older than my friends and my folks sort of stopped supporting me when I turned eighteen. They still let me live at home and usually feed me, but they’re really focused on my little sister to make sure she doesn’t turn out like me.”

“You seem to have turned out just fine.”

Alice checked to see if anyone was watching and pulled a card out of her back pocket. She wore cut-offs that barely covered her butt-ledge. Her phone bulged out of one pocket. She handed me the card. It was a ‘free admission’ card for Roxie’s Foxes.

“What’s this?”

“The gentlemen’s club where I work. I start at six. Stop by and you’ll see more of this.” She pulled her crop top to the side with her bra and exposed a nipple. “I want to know more about what you write and how you manage to live on the road.”

“Dry time!” Julie yelled. Alice spun away from me in time to catch a chamois so she could help strip the water from my truck. Strip. Yeah. Well. I didn’t need to be back at my campsite tonight. I could sleep in the truck. It was clean, after all.

A Long Time Ago: Carly the Clown

Nearly every tall thin woman I’ve written about has been based in some way or another on Carly the Clown. That is not disparaging.

Back when I was working with an unnamed theater group years ago… Well, the important thing was that Carly was part of that group and I thought she was heavenly. She was 6' 1" and thin. Her breasts scarcely bumped out her shirt. Her hair was black and, when I met her, she was one of those totally natural girls who didn’t shave anything. But damn! That girl kissed with her whole body.

It was the middle of September when I gave her a lift one evening. We were talking and laughing—having a great time. When I got to her apartment, she leaned across the seat to give me a thank-you kiss. The minute our lips touched, the lights flickered. I think it sucked the electricity right out of the power lines. The little thank-you kiss turned into a you’re-welcome kiss. I made sure she knew she was welcome any time. We made out in the front seat of the car for a quarter of an hour when some dude flashed his headlights at us and I realized we were parked across three spaces. I was just letting her off, after all.

“Um… see you next week,” she said.

“Definitely,” I answered. I was so slick back then.

When she got out of the car, I had to turn the window defogger on in order to pull into traffic.

The next week, September really arrived, complete with the rain that marked the season’s change.

“Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night?” she asked as we finished a breath-taking kiss on Friday night in front of her apartment.

“I’d love to. Can I bring a bottle of wine?”

“That would be great. See you at six.”

That was all it took. We actually did have dinner, but the lights were flickering all evening. I waited until we’d gone a step beyond kissing, holding her tiny breasts in my hand as I dipped to lick her nipples.

“I’d love a glass of wine now,” I said. We hadn’t opened it with dinner. “I don’t object to where this is heading, but I wanted to know we were going there before we drank anything.”

“As long as you’re okay with this heading into my bed, then we can drink anything you want.”

That first night we made love was earthshaking. I already had her shirt off and she had mine open to the waist. We sipped our wine and I ‘accidentally’ spilled a little on her. It ran down her chest and I lowered my head to lick it up. I had to be sure I got everything, so there wasn’t much of her long, elegant torso that I didn’t lick.

“I’m a little sticky. Would you like to cool off in a warm tub?” Carly asked me as she nibbled on my ear and stroked my cock through my too-tight jeans.

“That would be great.”

“I use a diaphragm, so we can’t make love in the tub. Okay?”

“Let’s enjoy the bath and then make love,” I answered. “Carly. Just so you know, I do want to make love to you.”

“Oh, yeah,” she answered. “Oh, yeah. Last week, after you kissed me in the car, all the windows steamed over in the apartment when I walked in. Oh god, Ari. I want you so much.”

We slipped into the tub and Carly leaned back against me between my legs. Just feeling her back and butt against my cock kept me rigid. For my part, gently washing her front as she lay back was an experience I’ll never forget. I’d never been with a woman who didn’t shave, at least under her arms, but I shampooed all her hair and found the silky texture of her pits as erotic as the thick curls between her legs. We finally stepped out of the tub and dried each other on a single towel then went to her bed.

I can’t say that making love to Carly was necessarily the best sex of my life, but I knew the instant I entered her that this was my lover. We might not always be lovers, but we would always be lovers now. There was something about this woman, taller than me, hairier than me, but as sensuous and lithe as any lover could be. We fit together.

I look back on that time with a sense of yearning. We got together periodically over the years. Even when she moved to Colorado on her way to LA, I found a way to visit one summer and coming together was as easy as it was the first time. The lights still flickered. I don’t know where she is now, but somehow I know that if I ever come upon Carly the Clown, we’ll still be lovers now.

Back to Alice

I hung around town and went to Cabela’s to get some supplies that I needed. You can never have enough stuff from Cabela’s. I’d spotted the store near the interstate and decided to just stop in. About five-thirty, I realized I was just hanging around waiting to go to Roxie’s Foxes. Well, I figured I might as well try it out. I hadn’t seen an eighteen-year-old pussy since I was… well, eighteen. In fact, I hadn’t seen any pussy in a good long while—even while I was married. I spent the next half hour munching down a venison burger in Cabela’s little café and then headed for Roxie’s.

I walked into the club at six-fifteen. I’d grabbed a couple hundred from a cash machine. I knew I’d have to tip and maybe I’d buy a dance. They charged ten bucks for a soda water once I was inside, but gave me a two-for-one dance coupon. I settled into a seat in front of the stage, one of only about four guys in the room.

The first dancer—Jewel—moved to the music pretty well and I tossed a buck on the stage for her during the first number. I sat back down and she pranced over, did a couple pseudo-sensuous moves, including turning her back to me and bending at the waist to pick up my bill and twerk a bit. She had a nice ass, but was covered with tats. I like a little ink, but I felt like I needed reading glasses for this babe. I was enjoying the show, though, and when her top came off I put another buck on the stage. She stopped me before I turned away, pulled my Stetson off, and put it on her own head. She pulled my face forward and buried it between her tits. I kept my mouth shut. I’d seen the guy on the other side of the stage licking her and didn’t want to kiss him second hand. I sat back down and an elegant vision sidled up to me and asked if she could join me. I looked up into the eyes of Alice.

I’d like to tell you all about the color of her eyes and their depth, yadda yadda yadda. But if you’ve ever been in a strip club, you know the lighting is such that you can’t see any of that detail. Just when you think you’ve locked in on something, a light hits you in the eyes and you can’t see anything. I scooted over on my little bench and she curled up beside me.

“I’m glad you decided to stop by.”

“My curiosity got the best of me. You can dance here at 18?”

“Yeah. Maybe we bend the rules a little, but I’m only here twice a week. Gotta earn my way in the world.”

“Don’t you get hassled by fellow students?”

“They’re rigid about checking ID on guys if they look younger than 35. They can’t buy booze until 21. Most of my classmates aren’t 18 yet and can’t get in. I’ll deal with it when they start having birthdays.”

I watched as Jewel lost her g-string. Her pussy was wide open when she got on her hands and knees and crawled across the stage. She got a tip and clacked the heels of her thick platforms together.

“You need to tip her now,” Alice whispered. I pulled out another single and leaned toward the stage. Jewel crooked her finger for me to stay at the edge of the stage. She smiled at me and picked up the dollar bill I’d creased and laid on the stage. Her eyes never left mine as she slid the crease through her slit then shoved the bill in my mouth. She bent toward me and took the bill from my lips with her lips. Then she dragged my face down through her cleavage and onto her belly as she stood up and pushed me gently back to my seat. Shit! That was the closest I’d been to a pussy in… a long time.

“Doesn’t she have a great ass?” Alice asked.

“Yeah. I’d have to say so,” I answered.

“So what do you write?”

“Oh. Well, I like romantic stories. Plenty of sex, but more interested in the character development.”

“Good. I want more than Tab A into Slot B and come. What do you want here?”

“Well, it’s been a while since I actually saw Slot B, so I thought a little primary research was in order.”

“Just wait till you see Dakota. She’ll show you all the primary you want.” We chuckled at the joke. “Of course, if you’d like your research to be a little more hands-on, we’ve got the special running now of seven songs for a hundred or happy hour for just two hundred. Let me know.”

Two hundred for an hour? I’d already spent twenty of the two hundred I got from the cash machine. That wasn’t going to happen.

“Enjoy the show. I’ll be on in a bit. Save your two-fer card for me,” Alice said. She left me to consider how long seven songs would be.

Three other dancers sat beside me for a song or two, but when they realized I was just tipping the stage dancer and not buying dances, they got up and moved away. Jewel did a good job of trying to get me to use my two-for-one and buy her drinks and God knows what else. I kept looking around, but didn’t see Alice anywhere. I got another ten-dollar soda water from the waitress just so I could get singles to tip the dancers. The waitress was cute enough that I tipped her, too. After a while, the DJ announced Sierra coming to the stage.

Alice crawled on like a cat. I was a mouse caught in her eyes. My first single was on the stage floor before she’d finished her first circuit. Apparently, Sierra was her stage name. She stood, looked me in the eye and scuffed the bill toward the back of the stage with her foot before turning to the other side of the stage. After other dancers who tried to shove their tits in the mouths of tippers, I wasn’t expecting the brush-off. But I was still hopeful.

The second number, she lost her top. She was a little bigger up top than Carly. Her areolae weren’t huge and were just a shade darker than her skin. Her nipples were hard dark points in the center. I had another dollar on the stage before I realized I’d moved. Alice turned toward me and gave me a hug, her bare tits rubbing against my shirt.

“Look close,” she whispered. “This is what you came to see, isn’t it?”

I looked. Little bumps rose in the soft flesh of her tits as they slid across my cheek, almost but not quite touching my lips. Alice moved away and kept dancing. I had another bill out as soon as I sat down, thinking about what would happen next. I waited until the end of the song and Alice kept making her circuit of the stage, pretending to dance—sometimes grabbing the pole and swinging herself around it. Finally, I saw her hand drop to the ties of her bikini bottoms. She pulled the cord and turned away so I could see the back of the g-string disappear down her crack as she pulled it through.

I’ve seen lots of girls in my life—not hundreds, but plenty—and couldn’t remember lining myself up behind a woman whose pussy was as full and open when she bent over. It was better than any movie I’d seen. I don’t kid myself. Dancers in a strip club are there to earn the money, not to get turned on. If there was any glistening moisture around her pussy lips, it was just sweat. But looking at that 18-year-old flower from beneath her ass-cheeks made my nostrils flare as I imagined the scent of her arousal. I knew what it would be. A little sharp, but enticing. A flavor that I’d search weeks to find a word for and still never be satisfied with—sweet, tangy, spicy—what difference did it make. I’d try to find the word after I’d tasted her. Fantasy.

I took her another bill and she simply pulled my face between her breasts to make sure I felt exactly how soft and smooth they were.

I didn’t look at the next dancer. My eyes were closed as I sat in front of the stage. I felt the short couch shift and warm breath swept across my ears.

“A-ri,” she breathed in my ear. “Are you ready for some more primary research? We can go back to the naughty room.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got a hundred, is that special still on?”

“I’m going to make it really special. In fact, you’ve still got a two-for-one coupon. Two specials for one low price!”

She danced. Nearly an hour of rubbing against me and pushing her breasts into my face, letting my hands hold her thighs as she ground her pussy against my hard-on. That feeling was exquisite. Her bra top came off slowly, finally letting the nip free so I could catch it between my lips as she rubbed back and forth against my face. We both moaned.

“Help me along a little, Ari. Dancing for you has me all turned on. Nobody can see,” she whispered in my ear. My hands had already strayed to caress her breasts and play with her nipples in the dark room. I sucked one into my mouth and Alice pushed my hand down to my thigh. Then she straddled my thigh and began to grind on my open hand. I got the message and my fingers went to work. Somehow her g-string slipped aside and I slipped inside. “Oh, god, yes!” she moaned in my ear. She had one hand supporting herself on my shoulder and the other had managed to open the buttons on my 501s and slip inside to stroke my cock through my briefs. I was imminently going to make a mess, but what I was feeling on my hand told me Alice was about to make a mess as well. I found her little button and slid a finger on either side of it as I carefully rubbed up and down.

Alice slammed her lips against mine and her tongue into my mouth to muffle her scream as she came. Her grip on my cock tightened painfully and when she released the pressure, the relief was so great that I jerked as spurts of come filled my shorts. She panted as she collapsed against me and pulled my hand out of her teabag.

The last song of our set played and she sank onto me with her arms around my neck and her cheek rubbing against my beard.

“I want to go with you,” she whispered. “Do you have room?”

“You need to finish school,” I answered, nobler than I felt. I’d just spent nearly an hour with a high school girl’s tits, ass, and pussy in my hands. Now I’m getting conservative?

“But I want to do what you’re doing. And I could provide more… inspiration.”

“Do you want to be in a story?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“What kind of story?”

“A really good one. Write about tonight.”

I could feel her soft pussy as it continued to push against my wet cock. I could imagine a good story all right. I hugged her to mer.

“Here’s my card. If you’re serious, send me an email and I’ll send you the story this weekend. Keep in touch. If you still want to join me when you graduate, I’ll swing back up to Montana to pick you up. We need to be clear on the rules, though. I’m not rich. I just travel.”

“I’ll save my money so I can pay my own way.”

“It doesn’t cost much, but I don’t go out and party every night.”

“Would you like to party in?”

“In you.”

“Send me the story.”

I slept the night in the cab of my nice clean pickup truck. I’ve got to make a more comfortable bed when I’m doing overnights away from the trailer. I’ll figure that out. I’ve got a few months.

31 August 2013


Thank you for the story, baby. Reading it made me come again, just thinking about your fingers slipping through my wet folds. It was just right. Well, we didn’t really spend a whole hour, did we? But otherwise you told it the way I want to remember it.

Exotic dancers say about anything to make a buck. Who am I kidding? Exotic dancer? Stripper? I behaved like a fucktoy. That’s why I have to tell you that I don’t do that kind of thing all the time. In fact, it scared me that I lost control and let you touch me there and make me come. I’ve had guys come in their pants before, but not me. I know a couple of girls make arrangements to meet guys later and turn tricks. You could have fucked Jewel for the amount you spent on me. But I don’t do that. I’m using my body to earn money to live on and for college. Jewel’s selling hers for dope.

The thing is that I dream about the places you write about in your blog. Thanks for friending me. I loved the pix of the Nez Perce battleground. So desolate and yet such a deep rich beauty. I can understand why they fought to keep their land. And I just wanted to be there with you, looking out over that wild landscape.

I guess that’s what I’m writing about. I still want to come with you. (Get it?)

I know I have to finish school and next year I’ll be in college and I can’t just abandon my own life to go live yours. But maybe you could write more about the trip. Why don’t you write about your other adventures with girls along the way? I bet I’m not the only one whose pussy you’ve had your fingers in. You need to tell the story—the story that I want to hear, not the sanitized version you post for family and friends.

Can you do that, Ari? For me? Please?

Big wet kisses, baby.


15 August 2016

Three years on the road now. I wrote about my adventures for Alice periodically, but I never got around to editing and publishing them. After all, I write strong, character-driven romances and coming of age stories. It’s about the story, not about the sex. The story Alice wanted to hear was… well, it was the story of the sex and the characters are the people I have known through my life. Alice is a very physical girl.

This is my memoir—meaning it’s my life as I remember it. It cuts back and forth a lot between my adventure on the road and my memories from before—sometimes long before. I find myself daydreaming a lot, but I call it plotting the next story. Like my time on the road, I sometimes get lost along the way.

I took the road less traveled. Now where the fuck am I?

Disciplinary Action

19 September 2013

The place was billed as a condo resort in the Mojave Desert, but the rooms were little more than a hotel room with a half-kitchen and living area. It was nice, though, to get out of the trailer for a week and have unlimited hot water for showers, a big bed, a swimming pool, and a hot tub. The scenery at the pool wasn’t bad either. It was a spa, so there weren’t that many little kids and those that were there confined their activity to the waterslide and kiddie side of the pool. It was a big pool that wound its way around a fake rock island. The entrance to the waterslide was on top, but beneath it, in a grotto complete with a waterfall, was a spa. The jets were locked in the ‘on’ position.

I’d put the trailer in storage for the week. I own some timeshares—one of the world’s great rip-offs—and tried to use up the weeks by taking a break from the trailer periodically. It also gave me the opportunity to haul my printer out of the cubbyhole where I stored it and print out various business things, like royalty statements and first drafts of stories that I wanted to work on with a pencil. I still do that at times.

I’d made it my habit to get to the pool soon after it opened at eight in the morning and to come back in the evening between five and ten when it was ‘adults only.’ I was catching up on some work, some writing, and my personal finances—which were in ragged shape. I didn’t like how money was running through my fingers. That’s probably why I wasn’t paying all that much attention as I opened the stairwell door and headed down for my evening dip in the pool.

I get a room on an upper floor—third in this case—and convince myself that I’m exercising when I use the stairs instead of the elevator. The truth is, the stairs are faster. I hate waiting for elevators as much as I hate waiting for an Internet connection on the resort’s antiquated WiFi. So, I didn’t even see her before I was sitting on my butt in the middle of the staircase with a blonde bikini model towering over me. The impact had jarred loose the towel she’d had wrapped around her waist and her still-wet suit outlined a luscious cleft between her legs and the distinct shape of her nipples up top.

“Oh, my god! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Oh, please be all right.” She knelt on the step beside me and wrapped an arm around me, pressing those golden globes against my arm. I shook my head to clear it and shifted my weight to test my tailbone. The shift rubbed her breasts against my arm delightfully. She, on the other hand, thought my headshake was an answer to her question. “Don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.” She started to get up, but I caught her arm and pulled her back down beside me.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Just a little shook up and impressed by your… um… charms.”

A pink glow began in her cheeks and spread down over her breasts in a wave, but she didn’t move them away from where they were pressed against my arm. She was quiet a moment before she spoke softly.

“May I help you up, sir?”

There is absolutely nothing in this world that makes me feel like an old fart as much as having a beautiful young woman call me “sir.” Still, she wasn’t exactly running away from me.

“My name’s Aroslav,” I said. “What’s yours?”

“Angie, sir. Um, Mr. Aroslav.”

“Well, Angie, on future trips, maybe you could lift your pretty eyes up the stairs. If you really want to land on top of me, I can think of several ways you could that would be more pleasant.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. Is there anything I can do for you to make it better?” I’m sure she didn’t have in mind what instantly sprang to my mind—and was influencing the springing of other parts as well. “Can I go get your wife or help you to her?”

“I’m alone here,” I said. “No one needs to be notified that I’ve been bowled over by a beautiful young woman. I suppose you need to get back to your boyfriend.” I was making the same assumption she was. Few people come to these resort hotels alone.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m here with my mother. I’m trying to plot out the next three months or the rest of my life or something. Listen to me babble. Please let me help you, Mr. Aroslav, sir. Then you can tell me what kind of punishment I should have for being so careless.”

Lights, bells, and sirens went off in my head. She bowed her head as I stood up, her blush continuing all the way to her waist. This was a woman who needed to make up for her mistakes. There was just one obstacle preventing me from taking matters in hand, so to speak.

“Angie, how old are you?”

“Twenty-two, sir.” She didn’t hesitate or attempt to lie. She kept her head down, refusing to look me in the eye. Her hair had come loose from a knot on top and the strands were so light that they blew in the slightest breeze as a stairway door opened two floors below us.

“Angie, you are to meet me in the grotto spa in twenty minutes.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “This is a one-time offer, Angie. Do not attempt to speak to me again if you are not there in twenty minutes.” I bent to retrieve her towel and handed it to her. Her breathing had quickened. She took the towel but made no attempt to cover herself as she stood staring at me. I thought, in fact, that she straightened up a bit and pushed her pretty breasts out more. Well, maybe you can’t just push those points out the way they popped. It could have been an automatic reaction to the breeze, I suppose.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. Then looking up at the last flight to the third-floor door, she ran up and through the door. Somehow, I didn’t feel so old when she called me sir this time. I nodded to an overweight couple as they puffed up to the second-floor landing and I went ahead to the pool.

I don’t know what got into me. Under normal circumstances, I would have chatted her up, flirted, invited her for a drink, and been summarily dismissed. This time I’d simply given her twenty minutes to hide in her room and then by my own declaration she would never need to speak to me or acknowledge my existence again.

I’m not much of a dom. I can be just as pussy-whipped as the next guy and have always been attracted to strong, independent women. The kind who eventually get bored with me. Don’t ever believe a woman when she says she’ll never get tired of you being sappy and romantic. It’s not true.

Still, the idea of having a twenty-two-year-old blonde bombshell submissively attending to my every whim put some lead in my pencil. I had to really think through how I would handle this situation. I wasn’t even sure I could maintain a position of dominance for very long. I mean, playing a game for a night was one thing, but actually taking on a sub was serious business. First, I’m not rich. I can’t just take on a dependent. So, if I’m not providing money, a home, security, a new wardrobe, an education, a house with five bedrooms in a good suburb, health insurance, and 2.3 children, what is the attraction for a woman to subjugate her beautiful body to me? And not just her body. From everything I’d read, submissiveness like Angie was showing was a psychological need. It surrendered the key thing that my life was built on: making decisions. My best hope was that she realized what a mistake it was and didn’t show up.

I went over my impressions of her in my mind, kicking myself that I hadn’t spent more time just looking at her.

I guessed she was about 5’ 2” or near that. It was hard to tell when we were on a stairway, but I was sure she was significantly shorter than me. There was no question that she was beautiful. She had a narrow waist enhanced by a fairly flat stomach with just a hint of softness in the middle. Personally, I don’t have washboard abs, but I was proud of the fact that I was one of the fitter men at the pool and didn’t have the pronounced beer gut that so many had. I made a note to myself to start working out a little more. I’d like to be in damned good shape by the time I get to Florida next spring.

Of course, thinking about her stomach gave me cause to let my memories drift a little lower. Her pale blue bikini tied just below her hipbones and the tiny scrap of fabric that was tightly stretched between her legs, accented the Delta of Venus. Her labia were puffy enough to give a distinctive shape to the nearly transparent fabric that showed none of the roughness that pubic hair would cause. Her legs looked smooth and, while lightly tanned by the desert sun, looked healthy and not overcooked.

The breasts she’d so innocently—innocently??—pressed into my arms were not huge and were what sparked my fears that she was a teenager. They were soft, though, and her nipples bumped out the fabric nicely. Her face had a clear complexion with lush lips framing nearly perfect white teeth. What struck me most, though, was the electric blue of her eyes—so deep and intense. With her feathery blonde hair floating around her head, she looked like an angel.

At least in my memory.

A Long Time Ago: Spank

My little cousin liked to play at ‘discipline’. Of course, we didn’t call it that. We called it being naughty and getting spanked. Playfully, of course. I never tried to hurt her. But when the families got together—our mothers were sisters—the kids would all scatter and Emmy and I would often get left to our own devices. She was a year younger than me and I figured I was too old to babysit her. The older kids, on the other hand, felt the same way about me.

So, Emmy and I ended up being thrown together. I would tell her to do things, hoping to get her to go back to the house and play with dolls while I became a pirate sailing my imaginary ship across the sea. She would obey my commands. Climb to the second limb in the willow tree. Swing higher than my head and jump into the sand pit. Spin around the monkey bar on one leg. I didn’t think she knew that everything I told her to do showed me her panties. Ha!

Girls all wore skirts in those days—at least Emmy did. Climbing, swinging, and other gymnastics would show her panties to me and ever since playing doctor with the neighbor girl, I’d been fascinated by what was up there.

There was a locker room joke about the little girl who came home from school with her pockets jingling with change. ‘Where did you get all that money?’ her mother asked. ‘The boys paid me to swing high on the swing,’ the little girl said proudly. ‘Honey, don’t you know the boys were just trying to see your underwear?’ mother asked exasperatedly. ‘Yeah, but I fooled them. I took my panties off.’

Emmy had me fooled.

Eventually, she would refuse to do something or she’d sneak up behind me and push me or she’d stick her tongue out at me. What could I do but chase her down and punish her? I’d manage to drag her—not putting up much resistance—to a tree stump and pull her over my knee so I could spank her. We played the game a lot that summer.

It started out that I’d just spank her a couple swats and then she’d jump up and run away or stick out her tongue again so I’d chase her. The next time, when she accused me of just trying to see her panties, I pulled her over my lap and flipped her skirt up so I spanked the little pink panties in question. It took a little time, but before long she would simply lie on my lap and I’d not only flip up her skirt, but I’d pull down her panties so I could spank her bare bottom.

The spanks kept getting softer, the less clothing that was between my hand and her skin. But I’d give her a lot more of the gentle slaps once she was bare. Maybe my hand stayed on those innocent globes a little longer each time, too.

Emmy told her older sister what we were did, and one day as she was bending over my knee she said, “You can pull my skirt up, but you aren’t supposed to pull my panties down. Okay?” Of course it was okay. For the first couple swats. Eventually, her panties ended up around her ankles and my hand ended up on her bare bottom. The difference now was that we knew, explicitly, that we weren’t supposed to do that.

After that summer, when we went back to our own schools, we never played the spanking game again. We were more grown up and it wasn’t proper behavior. It was my first experience in being a dom and administering punishment. I wasn’t very good at it. But my first wet dream was filled with images of that bare butt beneath my hand.

Back to Angie

I swam several laps, paying absolutely no attention to the time. What difference would it make? I knew she wasn’t coming back. I left the pool in the full darkness and made my way into the grotto to soak in the hot water and let the jets beat my back muscles into submission.

“Hello, sir,” she whispered beside me before I’d set my foot in the hot water. “Let me take your hand as you come into the water.”

“Do you think that I am old and decrepit?” I asked harshly.

“Oh no, sir! I just wanted to… to help you if I could. May I?”

I looked at her. She’d changed to a different bikini, this one white. In the dim light of the grotto it was still easy to make out the exact shape and size of her nipples and areolae. She was waist deep in the water and I stepped down to join her.

“Sit with me, Angie. I want to know more about you.”

We settled into the tub and I found a jet that pounded against my lower back. It hadn’t felt so good in years. Angie slid right up beside me, our legs touching beneath the turbulent water.

“There’s not much to know about me, si…, I mean Mr. Aroslav. I’m twenty-two, a graduate of UCLA with a teaching degree and no job.”

“How did you end up here at the spa?” I noticed that she couldn’t bring herself to use just my name. Respectful or frightened?

“It was my mother’s idea. I’ve been talking about going on a road trip for a while and she suggested we come out here and talk about it. That means I dream and she convinces me not to.”

“We are such stuff as dreams are made on,” I quoted.

“And our little life is rounded with a sleep,” she concluded. I was impressed. A Shakespeare student?

“What did you say your degree was?”

“Secondary education, technically. It’s a teaching degree. I want to teach high school English someday.”

“I’m afraid that would be quite a challenge. I can’t imagine a high school boy who could sit through your class without getting a hard-on. And you’re so young, they might try some inappropriate things.”

“Sadly, that’s pretty much what was said in my interviews—though they neglected to use the word hard-on.” She giggled a little. Then looked at me seriously.

“Do you think I’m that pretty?”

“Absolutely. You must know that.”

“Well… um… not exactly. I mean, I know I’m pretty, and I’m not insecure. But I can’t identify with it. It still surprises me when someone says I’m pretty. I was always a little overweight in high school and most of college. I decided that I needed to lose the weight and shape up or I’d always regret it. The problem is that I still think of myself like I did when I was fat. And I need to lose more weight. I have this tummy.”

She stood on the bench, placing all her delicious bits right at eye-level and patted her tummy. Yes, there was a little roundness to the soft flesh, but I wanted to place my lips on it and begin kissing all over her body. My hand reached of its own volition and I placed it on her soft tummy. She caught her breath, but did not move away. I pulled her back into the water and she floated over onto my lap. I kept my left hand on her stomach as my right guided her.

“What’s the difference between men and women?” I asked.

“You mean the obvious, sir? Women have breasts and a vagina and men have a penis and testicles.”

“Okay. Beyond the primary sex characteristics.”

“Oh. Secondary. Men are hairy… sort of.” She placed a hand on my chest among the sparse hairs. Genetically I just didn’t come from hairy stock and what little I had on my chest I’d gladly transplant to my head. She moved her hand from my chest to my beard. “Soft,” she whispered. “I mean… women are softer than men.”

“Yes. Women are usually softer than men, usually not as hairy, usually have a higher voice. There are exceptions on both sides. But those secondary characteristics that make you distinct as a woman—why would you want to get rid of them?” She looked into my eyes as if trying to gauge whether I was serious. I caught the glimmer of a tear there.

“I just don’t want to be fat any longer.”

“I won’t say you are just fine because that discounts how you feel about yourself, but think seriously about what that means before you get caught in a cycle of unending dieting and self-criticism. You are no longer the fat girl. How much thinner do you really want to be, and why? I could show you the most beautiful statues of women in the world and none of them have a flatter stomach than yours.” For the first time since I’d pulled her back into the water, she began to relax. She leaned against me.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Would you really show me beautiful statues?”

“Wherever we found them. Now tell me more. Tell me about what these dreams of yours are.”

A Long Time Ago: Follow the Dream

I know something of dreams. I’ve had a few.

And I know what it is like to put them off. As much as I despised the idea of working in technical theater instead of being a playwright, it was true that I needed to earn a living. After my master’s degree, two years during which I designed and built twenty-four shows in twenty-four months in addition to writing a thesis and teaching, I was nearly burnt out. Paula’s and my relationship didn’t survive the struggle. It would be easy to blame my shelving of dreams on her, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. I had to earn a living. I was beginning to hate theater. I struggled on through my PhD and wrote a couple of plays that got some attention, but the stress was killing me, and all relationships that I potentially had.

So, I decided to go into something low-stress. Like publishing.

It evolved slowly as I completed my PhD. I would become a great novelist. I wrote volumes. But I discovered that I could make money by writing and publishing technical materials. My first contract was to develop a massive real estate sales instruction course. Then brochures, newsletters, trade journals. I made a lot of money writing.

But my novels kept being pushed aside and, eventually, I stopped writing them.

I worked for years in high tech, mostly developing documentation and training materials for publishing technology, when what I wanted to do was write novels and have people read them. I wanted to touch people with words. I wanted to make the world a better place in a way that writing error messages for computers wasn’t achieving.

I had dreams that I’d delayed for years until the day I got pushed out of my nest and went off to see the world. Or at least this little corner of it. I wasn’t in the business of fulfilling other people’s dreams. I was just beginning to fulfill my own.

Back to Angie

“Well, I thought that since I didn’t get a teaching job this fall, that it would be a good opportunity for me to go see the country for a while,” Angie said. “Lots of people I know have taken a year off to travel sometime during or after college. I just want to take a few months. I’ve been accepted on a program to begin my Master’s degree in January.”

“How did you plan to accomplish seeing the country?”

“You sound like my mother. I was just going to get in my car and go. She’s all about ‘Where are you going to stay? Who will travel with you? How are you going to support yourself?’ All the stuff I should have thought about. I mean, I have some money that I can use, but not enough to stay in a resort like this every week. And she keeps telling me that it’s too dangerous for a girl to travel alone and my car isn’t dependable and on and on.”

“All valid points,” I said. My head was filling with ideas and I had to keep myself in check before I said something more. She squirmed on my lap a little. At first I thought she was uncomfortable and wanted to get away, but I moved my hand from her stomach and she kept wiggling until she could feel my cock pressed against her butt. Then she sighed.

“Are you going to punish me for running into you earlier?” she whispered in my ear. Hmm. There was no one else in the grotto. Apparently, the old folks at the resort had already had their Ensure and gone to bed. Maybe the younger couples had managed to go to bed, too. There was no nightclub at this resort and it was a good twenty-minute drive or taxi ride to get to one.

“I’m reluctant to punish you severely for an unfortunate accident,” I said as I let my right hand move down her body to cup her ass cheeks. She caught her breath but didn’t move away from my implied “severe” punishment. I moved to the right, freeing the jet that I’d been leaning against. “No. However, a little discomfort might be in order to remind you to look before you dash upstairs.” The shining in her eyes was no longer tears of frustration, but a sense of excitement exuded from her.

I pulled Angie off my lap and faced her toward the waterfall outside the hot tub. I moved her intentionally so the powerful jet hit her.

“Kneel on the bench,” I said. She immediately obeyed and I tapped the inside of her knees with my hand under water. She spread them apart. She moaned. I moved my right hand up to cup her ass again, my left having never left her stomach. In this position, the jets were hitting directly against her mound. I squeezed her ass and her hips rocked forward slightly. Another moan escaped her lips.

“Sir. Mr. Aroslav. What if someone…?” Her breathing was getting shallower and more rapid.

“Then they will see a naughty girl getting what she deserves,” I said. She was biting her lips and her eyes were closed as the water beat unmercifully against her sex. My hands on her tummy and her butt kept her in place and encouraged the rhythmic rocking of her hips as she moved closer and closer toward a climax, humping the water jet. When I heard a whine in her throat and felt her stomach muscles begin to clench, I pulled her away from the jets and back to my lap.

“Mmm. No. Please. So close.”

“This is punishment, not a reward, Angie. I will consider rewarding you after you decide if you are coming with me.”

“With you?” She turned to face me, pushing a knee into my cock. Quickly realizing what she’d done she straightened up and placed her knees on either side of my legs facing me. I knew she could feel my cock pressed against the tender places that had just been stimulated. “Where do you want to take me?”

“I travel, Angie. When we all check out of here on Sunday, I will collect my trailer and start wandering generally east and south from here so I can enjoy warm weather during winter. Sometimes it is lonely out there and having an obedient young companion and assistant would please me. You want to see the country. Your mother doesn’t want you to travel alone. I agree. It could be just what you need. In many ways.”

“You would take me with you?” she asked.

“If we reach an agreement,” I said. I involuntarily twitched against her. She jerked back a bit so we were no longer touching.


“No.” She was startled. It had appeared that she’d been ready to fuck me all afternoon, but was suddenly afraid of it if it were an obligation. She was surprised when I said no. “There are some rules that must be obeyed, but sex is not one of them. In fact, I haven’t decided if I even want to have sex with you,” I lied. I would have to swing the other direction not to want sex with this pert little nymph.

“What rules?”

“Well, for one, I consider my trailer, like my hotel room, to be a fabric free zone.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means no clothes. I lived entirely too much of my life in uncomfortable underwear, suits, ties, starched shirts, and tight belts. When I enter the trailer after a day of traveling, or when I stay in it on days that I’m working, I get rid of my clothes. Not only would you be expected to respect my nudity, but to join in it.”

“You mean I’d have to travel with you naked?”

“No. It would be way too dangerous on many levels to have a naked twenty-two-year-old in the truck when I’m driving. Nudity is confined to time in the trailer, or in a hotel room. Or if we happen to be in a location where nudity is acceptable.”

“Oh. I see. What else?”

“There is only one bed.” She blinked a couple of times while she put together all the implications.

“But we wouldn’t have sex?”

“Correct. That doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be touching each other. I love to cuddle and if something came up, you’d just have to learn to deal with it. Or rather to not deal with it. In fact, you would be forbidden to try to deal with it without my permission.”

“Right. So, you’ll have a hard cock pressed against my ass, but you won’t fuck me with it and I can’t give you relief without your permission. That is so weird.”

“There is nothing normal about the relationship I’m proposing. You’d be expected to do your share in keeping the trailer tidy, making meals, and cleaning up.”

“Well, that’s fair.”

“I have to buy gas, campsites, and food whether you are with me or not. You do not need to contribute to that unless you want a better grade of food than I supply or more than I can afford to feed you. Of course, your personal expenses, including your healthcare, shopping, admission to events, and meals in restaurants or snacks are your own responsibility. I tend to eat simply, but get good nourishment. If you are not an omnivore, please tell me now.”

“I eat pretty much anything, but I try not to eat too much so I don’t gain my weight back. And I know how to cook. I wouldn’t mind helping with that.”

“Good. One cooks, the other cleans up,” I said. “No drugs.”

“Yessir. I… well, I tried some once, but I realized that it could damage my career opportunities. I… broke up with my boyfriend over it.”

“Good girl.” I reached up and stroked her silky hair as I said that and she leaned into my hand, a brilliant smile lighting her face.

“Does that mean I get a reward?” she asked.

“This is your reward, my sweet.” I caressed her cheek and neck and she shivered, even in the hot water.

“Thank you, sir.”

We sat there for a few minutes and she slipped off my lap to cuddle under my arm. I still wasn’t sure if there was any point in all this. I couldn’t imagine any young woman would willingly put up with the requirements this old fart had spelled out for her. But she hadn’t slapped me and run away. And I had a feeling her pussy was still tingling. That gave me one last idea.

“Well, it’s time for me to get back to my room. Perhaps you’d help this poor man who was nearly run over this evening get up the stairs.”

“Yessir. It would be my pleasure.” We stepped out of the water and I reached for my towel. Angie snatched it out of my hand and proceeded to dry me. She was circumspect, drying up my legs to my crotch, but not overtly touching anything of interest. She held my t-shirt and slipped it over my head. I did not offer to dry her and she tucked her towel around her and took my arm as we headed back to the stairs.

When we reached my door, I inserted my keycard and stepped inside. Angie started to follow me, but I turned her back.

“Not tonight, young lady. You have until noon Saturday to decide if you want to take me up on my offer. There will be details to be worked out, but I don’t care to waste mental cycles on them unless you decide you want to travel as my companion. You should know that within the rules I have stated, I expect to be obeyed. My first order to you is this. You are not to come—let me be clear and say orgasm—until you have brought me your decision. Do you understand?”

Her mouth dropped open. I’m sure she planned to jill herself off as soon as she was alone. I reached over to close her mouth and she started to speak.

“Not tonight,” I said. “Go consider everything I’ve said and even talk it over with your mother. But no answers tonight. Think about it.” I stroked her cheek one last time, honestly believing I wouldn’t see her again. Then I closed the door.

If she talked it over with her mother, they’d be gone tomorrow.

I had prepared myself to never see Angie again. She was a nice young woman who would come to her senses about the time she reached her orgasm, strumming her little clit as fast as the water jets had vibrated it. It was an image I would savor the next time I stroked myself.

Nonetheless, I was disappointed that I didn’t see her at all the next day. I had visions of her fleeing with her mother back to the safety of wherever home was—LA, I presumed. I spent more time by the pool that day than usual for me, wanting to be in plain sight when she sought me out. I could feel my skin beginning to heat and rushed into my room for a long cool shower.

I was a little sullen that night and passed on my usual evening hot tub. I passed on jerking off, as well. I just didn’t feel up to it.

I went out to the pool the next morning and settled into a lounge chair in the shade. I had my coffee and my clipboard and was ready to do some serious work. Unfortunately, my mind kept wandering and I found myself staring vacantly into space.

“Are you staring at my boobs?” a harsh woman’s voice jerked my mind back from its reverie. I focused on the woman five feet in front of me. She was attractive, no question. She packed a few extra pounds on her five-four frame, but it wasn’t unsightly in a comparably modest two-piece bathing suit. I caught a glimpse of Angie standing a few feet away, watching. Ah. This must be the mother. Well, I was ‘offering’ to take her daughter off her hands for a few months. I figured I might as well brazen it out.

“I apologize, ma’am. I certainly would be happy to stare at your boobs, but I’m wearing my reading glasses and you would need to bring them much closer.” There was an awkward moment of silence before her laugh echoed around the low-walled pool. She looked over at Angie and made a shooing gesture. Angie left and I saw her lie down on a lounger across the pool, still looking toward us.

“So, you are the dirty old man who wants my daughter naked in your travel trailer,” she said.

“Well, I confess to being a dirty old man,” I said. “However, being naked is simply a condition of traveling with me—not an invitation to assuage my prurient interests.”

“How well-spoken,” she said. “As you might have guessed, I am Angie’s mother, Margaret. I take my daughter’s well-being and safety very seriously.”

“If Angie has told you that a condition of traveling with me was to be naked in my trailer, then I have to assume that she told you the rest of my rules and requirements.”

“Right down to and including you forbidding her to come until she had answered you. Frankly, I was relieved that you are still here. If you had left before she answered you, I’m afraid my daughter would never have climaxed again.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Now, I want to know all about you and your intentions. I want to know what kind of man you are. I want to know if I trust you with my daughter, because Lord! she is gone on you.”

We talked. Margaret was charming and witty and nearly as sexy as her daughter. I told her of the accident on the staircase and of my sudden realization that Angie craved being subserviant. I considered that a dangerous situation and thought that if I gave her a little of what she needed, it might help her to settle so she could think straight.

“That’s her father’s fault, the rat bastard,” Margaret said. In spite of her words, there didn’t seem to be any real sting behind them.

“Did he abuse her?”

“Oh heavens, no! He doted on her—adored her—and the feeling was returned. But she looked to him for everything. His approval. His instruction. His love—and not a sexual love. He genuinely loved her as a father loves a daughter. Sometimes, I admit I was jealous,” Margaret said. “We lost him two years ago. It was quick. A heart attack at two in the afternoon and at two-thirty, I was a widow and she was an orphan. It left her without an anchor. I was afraid she’d go with any man who could fill his place.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Both of you.”

“Thank you. That was the problem with her last boyfriend,” Margaret continued. “He stepped into her father’s shoes to order her around, but had none of the moral fiber of her father. He pushed her to try drugs. That was the last straw. I can’t tell you how thankful I was that she had the spine to reject him when it came to that. I was worried, but I’m more pleased with her ability to make a decision.”

“I found her to be an amazing girl. When we talked, which is what we spent most of our time together doing, I found she was articulate, educated, funny, and pleasant company. She is definitely a young woman I would love to spend more time with.”

“Naked in your bed.”

“I confess, that appeals to me as well, but I won’t push her to that.”

“Well, remember that your initial assessment was correct. She is an amazing girl. Physically, she is twenty-two years old—twenty-three in January. Emotionally, she is still a teenager, trying on life like a new pair of shoes to see what fits.”

“I seem to detect that you are tending toward approving her travels with me.”

“Nearly. There is one more thing, though. Could we go someplace more private to discuss this?”

Call me naïve or an idiot. Both fit. I was seriously out of practice, to say the least. I led Margaret to my room and invited her inside. I asked if I could get her a cold water to drink and bent to the refrigerator to get a bottle. When I turned around, Margaret was standing in front of me, stark naked.

“Angie told me you considered your room to be a fabric free zone,” Margaret stated. “Well, now you can bring your reading glasses over here for a closer look.”

I handed Margaret her water and stripped out of my swimming trunks and t-shirt. I led her to the sofa and offered her a towel to sit on.

“I’m not really likely to leak on the sofa,” she laughed, “but God knows what might already be lurking in the cushions. Thank you.” We settled in and continued our discussion. There was really nothing new in what we talked about and I sensed that she was really interested in whether I could sit with a naked woman and keep my hands to myself. If I was what I said I was. I was surprised when she turned the conversation to sex, but not shocked.

“Angie tells me that you won’t order her to have sex with you. Is that true?”

“The only way Angie and I will ever have sex is if she asks, and there may be conditions to that.”

“So, if I asked you to have sex with me now, what are the conditions you would impose?”

“Margaret, when was the last time you were tested for STDs?”

“What? I’ve never needed to be tested. I was faithful to my husband and have done without for the past two years. Actually, for close to a year before that.”

“As likely as that makes it that you are disease free, before I had unprotected intercourse with you, I would insist on a blood test.”


“I do have condoms. I even have little blue pills if they are needed, though I suspect they wouldn’t be. But Margaret, there is another condition.”


“No, why? Why do you want to have sex with me? There are many reasons I can think of that are good reasons and several I can think of that are not good reasons. Because I don’t expect this to go any further, I’ll say that among the good reasons are that you are horny, lonely, in love, or curious. Of the not good reasons, the worst are that you want to put me in my place, you think I expect it of you, or that you want to spoil the experience for your daughter. I suspect, frankly, that it is the latter.”

“Then, Mr. Aroslav, you suspect wrongly.” I noted that she changed from the familiar address of Ari to the formal way her daughter referred to me. I’d have to figure that out eventually. “I’ve no reason to believe that you expect it of me,” she continued. “I would never try to spoil an experience for my daughter, nor do I think that my having sex with you would affect her decisions in the least. I am not sure what your place is, so I am the last person who should attempt to put you there.”

“Then why?”

“You covered a few of them. I am horny and lonely. I miss the days when Angelo, my husband, made love to me. I’ve missed them for more years than he’s been gone. I won’t pretend that I love you nor that I’m particularly curious. I know what sex is like and one man or another, there can’t be that much difference.”

“Would you like me to help with the first two of your issues?”

“You are a kind and attractive man, Ari. If you can put your reading glasses aside and not look too closely at what you are getting, I’d like very much to have sex with you.”

“I’ve never been able to do that.”

“Put your reading glasses aside?”

“Have sex. All I really know is how to make love.”

I pulled Margaret toward me and softly kissed her lips. She turned her body and settled into my arms before lifting her face for me to kiss her again.

Frankly, it had been a while. Actually, a long time. Aside from my brief encounter with Alice, I’d not touched a woman sexually for close to four years before my latest divorce. I was savoring each taste of her lips, the tip of her tongue, the depths of her mouth. Margaret was an experienced kisser and joined enthusiastically. For a long time, we were content to just kiss on the sofa, my hand softly stroking her side and occasionally rising over the mound of her breast. It flattened slightly against her chest meeting gravity’s demands. She had large round areolae and dark nipples that had gradually awakened to rise from the softer flesh. She sighed.

“I don’t think my nipples have been erect in years,” she said. “Not since menopause anyway. Everything kind of shriveled up then.” I bent my head trailing kisses down her neck, shoulder, and across her breast, finally flicking the nipple lightly with my tongue. Her sigh turned to a soft moan as she pressed her breast upward into my mouth. “So long. So good.”

As nice as it was to have her lying back in my lap, the position on the sofa had defined much of what I could do to bring her pleasure and it was not enough. I scooped my right arm under her butt and lifted her so I could stand and carry her to the bedroom. I’ve discovered that on a long lonely drive of a few hundred miles you can do several thousand stomach pulses, tightening and strengthening the abs as you watch the country go by. It doesn’t reduce any layer of fat over the muscles, but it strengthens the core enough that I could stand and lift her without throwing my back out.

“Oh, no! I’m too heavy to do that,” she gasped and put her arms tightly around my neck.

“Hush. If I can do it, you are not too heavy.”

“Then could I ask a moment to use the toilet before you get me all the way into your lair?”

“Of course, fair maiden. The dragon awaits.” I set her gently on her feet next to the bathroom door and stroked all the way up her body as I stood up. She went into the bathroom and closed the door. I continued into the bedroom and used the opportunity to straighten and turn down the bed. I heard the toilet flush and the water run. As I tightened the sheets she slipped up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. She caressed my chest and let her hand drift to my lower abdomen. She eventually found what she was looking for, but it was a disappointment to her.

“You’re not…”

“Right now, I’m interested in you,” I said. “It takes more, however, than merely being in the presence of a pretty woman for me to be ready. On the other hand, you will know when I am ready.”

I turned in her arms and kissed her again and she felt the stirrings of what she’d been looking for. We moved onto the bed and arranged ourselves so that we could roll in whichever direction passion moved us. And passion began to move us.

Margaret was a hungry lover. She didn’t kiss with her lips as much as try to swallow my mouth. I let her have her way and our tongues coupled. I explored her body with my hands as we kissed, hefting her breasts, petting her ass, reaching between her legs. She had been in a bathing suit most of the week at the spa and, while not shaved smooth like I suspected her daughter was, she was tightly trimmed and her lips opened in invitation. The pathway was moist which was as much as I expected.

A Long Time Ago: Great Skills

Treasure was a gourmand of oral sex—giving and receiving.

We’d begun our relationship as professionals and then began to socialize. We’d had a couple of sweet kisses and it seemed that our dating was going along well when we went out to dinner about four weeks after we started. We were still catching up on discarding former relationships and building the lives we wanted to live. It was during a lively and funny conversation over dinner that she surprised me with a question.

“What’s your greatest skill?”

Our conversation had been light and flirtatious. I hesitated, but finally decided she wasn’t looking for my ability to correctly identify all twelve tenses in the English language. This was definitely going into new territory for us.

“I can peel a grape with my tongue,” I said. I could tell by the way she gulped that it had the right effect. But she didn’t miss a beat as she looked into my eyes.

“I don’t have a gag reflex.”

That started an extremely satisfactory sexual relationship that had been all I needed for the better part of twenty years—even through the dry times. Oral sex was a pleasure to both of us. Eventually, she had begun turning her back to me when I initiated intimacy.

“You can rub your cock on my ass tonight. Go ahead. I don’t mind. You can owe me one this time.”

Foolishly, I believed her. It wasn’t long before all sex was me rubbing my cock in her crack. She didn’t even like me to hold her breasts. But she kept insisting, “Go ahead. I don’t mind.” I ended up owing her for each one.

Things progress slowly and you don’t realize how your relationship has changed over the course of a couple years. I became a master of a quick come so as not to inconvenience her for too long. Eventually, I realized that using my hand was more satisfying and I quit cuddling up against her ass at all. It got down to birthday cunnilingus. And then nothing.

I’d sworn that I would never be deceived about what a woman wanted again. ‘Go ahead’ and ‘I don’t mind’ became big red letter words in all capitals that had signs pointing to them saying ‘LIES!’

Back to Margaret

Whatever it was that Margaret wanted from me, it wasn’t being used as a dump for my pleasure.

“Ari, again. Lick me again!” Margaret called out. What was the old Woody Allen line? I should have feeling in my lips again sometime next week. But what the hell? I had my face buried in a very tasty and enthusiastic pussy for the first time in a very long time. I was making the most of it. And by Margaret’s first orgasm, I was hard as a rock and stayed that way as I slipped a condom on.

She shuddered under me as another wave overtook her.

“Now,” she whispered. “Please make love to me, Ari. I didn’t know I could be so ready for a man. I’m ready. I want you.”

I moved up her body sprinkling kisses as I went. As soon as she could reach it, Margaret had hold of my cock and guided it directly into her pussy. I slipped in without hindrance and buried myself deep within her.

Once I was in her, we slowed down. I slowed down because it had been so long since I’d felt the inside of a woman that I wanted to savor every moment. She slowed down because she had what she wanted right then. She affirmed that with panted words. “Yes. Good. Oh yes. So deep. Yes.” From the immediate orgasms that Margaret had when I went down on her, we had progressed to a long slow build as we moved together.

We kissed and her kisses no longer held the ravenous desperation of the first few, but were calmer. Yet more intense. We’d been in the missionary position since the beginning. I think Margaret wanted to experience the submissive posture, though I somehow didn’t think that was how her relationship with her husband had gone. For my part, I found this position to be one that sped my climax, so I slowed down and pulled her with me as I rolled to my back.

“Yes!” she said as she began posting on me. “I love it like this!” I thrust up into her to meet her bounces and realized this wasn’t going to slow me down that much. Note to self: Work on prolonging my orgasm. I’d worked too many years on speeding it up.

Nonetheless, Margaret had become sloppy wet and we were making enough noise where we were connected to think that we were sloshing in the bathtub. She went first and the orgasm as she ground her clit against my pubic bone was double what I’d achieved with my tongue. That delicious heat and pressure combined to trigger my release and a minute after her, I filled the condom with more come than I thought I was able to produce. It had been so long. So long since I’d come in a woman.

We lay in the afterglow, holding and stroking each other. I’d long since slipped out of her and she showed no inclination to restart the engine. Our kisses were light. We pulled a sheet over us to settle for the night.

“I think,” Margaret sighed, “that I might be ready to start dating again. I can’t expect that there are a lot of Aroslavs out there just waiting to satisfy mature women, but perhaps I can find one in the greater Los Angeles area. Now that I know the species exists, I know how to target my search. Thank you, Ari.”

“Thank you, Margaret. Perhaps someoe is waiting for me as well.”

“Will you be able to provide what Angie wants? She needs you far more than I did. But it will be a challenge to you. You have a great deal of discipline, but my daughter can be… problematic. She’ll push you. She knew that her submissiveness to her father was also a way to manipulate him. He would do anything for her.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is going to be to have a beautiful, naked twenty-two-year-old blonde living in my little trailer?” I laughed. “But somebody’s got to do it. I’ll sacrifice myself to the cause.”

“It will do her good to see exactly how hard it is,” Margaret laughed, giving my cock a little stroke.

“We need to meet and go over the details. Tomorrow is Saturday and we have to leave the resort on Sunday,” I said.

“Kiss me one more time, Ari. Then I’ll go to my room and tell my daughter that she can bring her answer to you in the morning. Do you want her here?”

“Might as well start here and see if she hesitates over the rules.”

“Fabric free? I’d like to see that.”

“You should be here, too. It will show her how serious I am.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to have a naked mother and daughter to assuage your lusts, old man?” she laughed.

“Hmm. The implications of that image hadn’t quite hit me. But I’m not into intergenerational incest. Let’s keep it calm and talk about the rules and how things will work. Okay?” I said.

“I have no complaints about that. I am sure she will want to move in with you tomorrow. Will you be okay with that?” she asked.

“A night in each other’s company before we move into the limited space of the trailer will probably be a good thing. We’ll play it by ear, but that’s how we’ll plan it.”

“Then goodnight, Ari. I’ll let myself out. Don’t get out of bed. I want to remember you with that freshly fucked look.”

Margaret left the room. There is something about watching a woman’s ass walk away from me that is almost as good as watching her tits walk toward me. I drifted off to a very pleasant sleep.

I just had coffee and toast for breakfast. Condo kitchens are supposed to be fully equipped, but I found that I couldn’t do without my Chemex coffee pot and my own grind from Trader Joe’s. I’d have to stock up on coffee when I headed east. I didn’t think there were any more TJs until I reached Florida. But the one appliance that I didn’t have in my trailer and missed was a toaster. I’d picked up a loaf of crusty peasant bread and sliced it thickly to toast in the condo. I slathered butter on it and sprinkled a light coating of cinnamon and sugar over that. I guess I can be decadent when I choose to be.

I was sitting on a towel in the reading chair by the window when I heard the knock. It was precisely nine o’clock and I wondered how much Margaret had to restrain Angie to get her to wait that long.

I checked to be sure it was Angie before I opened the door. Her mother entered the room behind her.

“Good morning, Angie. Welcome. Good morning, Margaret. Please come in.”

“Good morning, Mr. Aroslav,” Angie began. “I’ve come to give you my answer and tell you…” I cut her off by placing a finger against her lips. She was startled and raised her eyebrows at me.

“You’re forgetting something, Angie,” I said. I glanced down at the very pretty sundress she was wearing. It left her shoulders bare and the loose skirt stopped about halfway down her thighs. It was a bright yellow plaid and it looked lovely on her. She’d taken the time to apply a light amount of makeup and her skin fairly glowed. A matching bow was in her blonde hair that otherwise hung loose around her shoulders. Very fetching. She wore flat sandals.

For the first time, Angie really focused on me and saw that I was nude. She caught her breath and reached for the bodice of her sundress. She turned quickly to look at her mother and got the shock of her life. As soon as she’d come through the door, Margaret had stripped off her shirt and shorts and was standing behind her daughter naked with her clothes dangling from one finger.


That was a preview of US Highways. To read the rest purchase the book.

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