Yes, E managed quite well through the fishnets but as usual one of our dates could not be without a wardrobe malfunction! So there we are in the back of the van, her fingers deftly massaging my clit as I grope her hungrily. I went to throw my head back in ecstasy and youch…my big beautiful hoop earrings were caught in her glasses (which she was still wearing to keep an eye out for intruders). So we had to completely readjust ourselves before I could come.

I was sad that due to our top secret location, I didn’t see or taste her new shave/trim job, but it was very enticing to touch.

Happy Monday everyone!  Silver and I went to an Underwater Equinox party Friday night…we were actually on dry land pretending to be underwater in a black-light, psychedelic kind of way.  As usual, Silver went all out with her aquatic themed outfit, and looked quite smashing.  She wore white fishnets that glowed under the black-lights.  In an ultra sexy dance floor moment, another woman at the party came up to Silver and started rubbing her hands up and down Silver’s fishnets.  I have the same tactile response to fishnets myself.  They just scream “Rub me!”   I frequently obey, so I found it very hot to see another woman give in to the same urge, with a total stranger no less!

Fortunately, Silver’s darling husband cleaned the van out for us, so I was able to feel the fishnets up privately after the party.  We moved the van to a quiet parking lot, and made out in the back seat.  The night air was chilly, so we had to leave most of our clothes on.  Maneuvering through the fishnet holes to find her clit was a challenge, but my tiny, ambidextrous hands managed.

I’m sorry to say that Silver won’t be able to confirm or deny anything about her fishnets until further notice.  She dumped an entire venti iced coffee on her laptop yesterday, and is officially offline for a while.  I’ve often feared that her coffee and computer habits would some day collide, and alas, it has happened.

On the bright side, my husband finally has a complete shave.  He thinks it makes his dick look bigger.  He did some of it himself, but when I caught him trying to see if he could pee and shave at the same time, I took over.  Now if we can just control the after-itch…

Silver picks me up on Wednesday for our usual Italian lunch (I order eggplant parm and she gets chicken parm).  She drives up to the college in her little red stick shift.

“Where’s the van?”  I ask, having just gargled in the bathroom in the hopes of making out in the van.

“We need to retire the van for the spring,” she says.  “It’s full of mulch and gardening tools.  There’s no way I’m going to be able to clean it up for sex.”

“What!” I gasp.  “Since when did you get all utilitarian on me?  The van is about love!  Even you yourself have called her a MILF!  You keep her full of mulch, and she’s going break down…I’m just warning you.”

“But how am I suppose to haul the garden stuff if I don’t use the van?”

“Well…I don’t know…what do you need a garden for anyway?”  She rolls her eyes at me.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I got to thinking, though, that perhaps my lifestyle had advanced to the point where I needed my OWN love van!  I mean, people bought vans back in the 60’s and 70’s as a place to have sex all the time.  Admittedly they were probably teenagers, but what the hell!  My super suave Saturn is paid off, so I could afford a cheap van.  In retrospect, I should have bought the van with the flat tires that someone left parked near my apartment last year.  It was a cruiser with a couch AND tables in the back.  It probably wouldn’t have ever run, but who cares!  I could have turned it into my own private love nest on wheels!

I pulled into Valvoline this morning with bagels for the female mechanics…yesterday it was donuts.  Tom T. Hall was blaring on my radio.   As many of you may remember, I became a regular at Valvoline last month when I discovered the allure of the Bay 2 lesbian mechanic.  She’s disassembled and cleaned every part of my engine since then.  I now know all of the female mechanics that work at this particular Valvoline, and I like to think that their day is a bit more cheery after my visits.

“Thanks for the bagel, E” said my Bay 2 Beauty.  “What will it be today?”

“Wiper blades…I need more squeegee action on the windshield.”

“It’s probably that god awful music you listen to…blades needs something funky to swish to.”

“Hey, Tom T. Hall was a modern day troubadour…every song is a poignant vignette of characterization.”  She laughed.  Ok, so she’s not a Tom T. Hall fan.  I won’t hold that against her.  I figured I needed to switch gears on the conversation, though.

“So, what do you think of Jessica Simpson’s ass?  Personally I think she looks better with some meat on her bones.”

“Yea, I’d fuck her.”

“Me too!”  Ah, now I felt like I was getting somewhere.  I resisted the temptation to elaborate on the social implications of our country’s obsession with celebrity weight gain.  Figured I’d save that conversation for Silver.

“So, ” I continued, “you have a girlfriend?”

“Nope, ” she replied leaning over my windshield to adjust the new wiper blades.  “But you do.”

Busted.

“Yea, she came in her yesterday afternoon specifically asking for my bay.”

Shit.

“She saw the empty donut box.”

Double shit.

I laughed and tried to recover the mood.  “Well, hey, if she brought that van of hers in, you guys will definitely be thanking me later.  That van needs tons of work.  We have sex in that van, you know!”  I whispered that last part.  The Bay 2 Beauty laughed.

“Yes, I know that…your girlfriend invited me to join you two for ‘lunch’ on Wednesday.”  I gulped.  ‘Lunch’ was the code word for sex in the back of the van.  And wait…tomorrow is Wednesday!

We left Joe in the back of the van with a sleeping Missy and a horny Candy.  What happens next is full of the gospel truth!  Mark, my friend, if you’re still alive and not incarcerated somewhere, call me!

          They left Asheville two hours later, heading west on Route 40 for Knoxville.  Missy was still asleep in the back.  Candy drove and sang along to Tom T. Hall’s “Me and Jesus” on the CD player.  Joe sat up front on a hot water bottle, his ass still a little sore.

On the way back to Asheville two days later, Joe drove the van, while Mark (a hitch hiker that they had picked up in Knoxville) kept him company.  A strange banging noise could be heard from the back of the van, and the poor vehicle swayed from side to side with a maddening rhythm.

            “Dude, you should have, like, made sure that bio-diesel station was still in business before you left Asheville!”  Mark pointed out, glancing curiously towards the curtain that separated him from the back of the van.  “What’s going on back there?”

            “You don’t want to know,” Joe replied in an irritated tone.  His pride was slightly wounded at the thought of retreating back to Asheville.  He consoled himself, though, by hoping that he could leave Candy there this time.

            The past two days in Knoxville had been fun; he had to admit that.  He had slept with Candy, with Candy and Missy, with just Missy, and with Missy and two other black women from the Grotto.  Sleeping with two women at once had always been a fantasy of his, although admittedly, he had always thought it would be two, petite, white women.  Missy’s taste for large, black women was a bit disconcerting, but hey, his prostate never felt better. 

            Candy was starting to get on his nerves, though.  She kept trying to read his fortune, and insisted that he touch her icons before having sex.  Half way to Knoxville, he had also discovered that part of her “stuff” included a black cat named Shiva. 

            “So, dude, where was I?”  Mark continued, with Shiva curled up contentedly on his lap.  “Oh yes, I had just hooked up with the stripper, Valerie, in San Fran, and she drug me off to Hawaii.”

            Joe had picked Mark up at a rest stop just outside Knoxville.  Mark was hitching his way to Asheville in search of a place to stay, and some quality weed.  He loved to talk, and was excited to tell his life story to Joe.

            “We were having a rad time in Hawaii, you know, until Val’s 18 year old sister came to stay with us.  Like, man, here I am on this beautiful fucking island…a stripper supporting me…I’ve got nothing to do but entertain her beautiful kid sister…and I go and mess it up by fucking the sister on the beach.”

            “You fucked the 18 year old sister?”

            “Yea, dude.  I’m, like, not proud of it, but how many times can you sit on a beach with a beautiful woman…drinking wine…the waves lapping up to your feet…reading Lord of the Rings…before something’s going to happen!”

            “You’re a Tolkien fan?”

            “Dude, you have no idea!  But let me finish…so, I do the sister.  Valeria’s like totally pissed.  I panic.  I run back to San Fran, and shack up with some of my music buddies.  We’re all, like, jamming one day, when we look out the window and there’s these thugs, you see…and they’re staking the place out.  Turns out Val hired a hit man to ice my ass.  After several days of hiding in the apartment, man, I made a break for it.  My buds hid me in a stand-up bass case, and we peeled out of San Fran in a mini-van.  I haven’t been back since.”

            “So, you’re going to hide out in Asheville for a while then? “ Joe asked.

            “Hell yea!  I know this, like, really strange hippie couple there.  I’m going to move in with them…they don’t know that yet, but I’m sure they’ll help me out.  I left my other buddies down in Colorado.  Mini-van died around Boulder.”

            “How funny!  We’re headed toward Colorado for a Libertarian convention.”

            “Dude, you’re, like, going to wrong way!  But rad, man, I had you pegged for a Libertarian, for sure.  Say, you wouldn’t happen to be into Mill would you?  That Utilitarian shit is rad!”

            Joe felt his eyes misting over, “I love Mill!”

            “Right on, man.  We’re going to get on famously…I can feel it!”  Mark opened the curtain concealing the back of the van, after a rather loud succession of banging noises caught his attention.

            “Dude, do you know there’s a black chick ramming the crap out of a white chick in the back of your van?  Cool!”      

Me:  So you did Bryan, huh?

Barista:  All for the love of fiction, baby.

Me:  That hurts!  We should conduct a poll, though, because I’m starting to think Bryan and Joe need to fuck each other.

Barista:  Joe’s a loser!  I’m not letting him near my Bryan!

Me:  Yea, well, Bryan’s a cheat…and you saw how much he was into that Finger.  God, those bitches are everywhere these days!!  Anyway, it’s a small leap from Finger to dildo, and then dildo to dick.  Yea, I’m thinking Bryan needs to experiment.

           The dreadlocked blur sat up and handed Joe his glasses.  He put them on, and let out a shriek at the sight of the black woman in front of him.  “My god, she’s fat!” he thought.

            “Who are you, and what are you doing in my van?” he asked.

            She grinned as if humoring him.  “The name’s Candy. For the past two days, I’ve been serving your tofu up at the Kitchen, love.  But I guess you were too busy looking at papers and talking to bums…”

            “Hey, Eric and Dave are not bums,” Joe interrupted her.  “They’re going to get published soon, you know.”

            She laughed with a deep voice, making her large breasts bounce.

            “Anyway,” he continued, “that doesn’t explain why you’re in my van…and naked.  Did we have sex last night?  I know I was pretty out of it from the pot.”

            She laughed louder.  “No, lover boy.  WE didn’t have sex.  I’m in your van because I’ve also been fucking your girlfriend for the past couple of days.  WE (she pointed to Missy) had sex last night.  YOU crawled your skinny ass up in between us around midnight.”

            “What?”  He looked at Missy.  She was sleeping very peacefully.  He poked her on the shoulder trying to wake her.

            “Oh honey, she had the ride of a life-time last night.  Trust me, she’s not waking up any time soon,” Candy laughed.

            “So…girlfriend invited me out to Colorado for that librarian convention.  Sounds like fun.  I’ve heard those librarians are real perverts!”

            “Libertarian.”

            “What?”

            “Libertarian convention.  Not librarian.”

            “Whatever.  Listen…Missy says I’ll love you after I get to know you.  I’m skeptical about that, but I’ll give it a shot for her sake.  Just don’t touch my stuff (she waved her arm around the van drawing his attention to the crystals, icons, and tapestries that had previously not been there), and as a gesture of good faith, I’ll let you fuck me.”

            Now it was his turn to laugh.  “No thanks,” he replied sarcastically.  “You are not my type.”

            “You’re not my type either, but I’m a Lea fan, too, so I’ll just stare up at the ceiling.  Damn that Carrie could wear a bikini!  It’s the chain that really makes her sexy, though.”

            “If this is supposed to motivate me, “ he started saying, stopping short as Candy grabbed his dick with a deep laugh.

            “Hmmm,” she mused.  “Never felt a real one before.”

            “What?”

            “I’m a lesbian, you twit.”

            “Lesbian…as in never had sex with a man before?”

            “That’s right,” she purred.  “But I’m hip with your librarian politics, so I’m willing to experiment.”  She stroked his dick a little harder. 

            Suddenly Candy didn’t look so fat to Joe.  “Well,” he thought, “this trip is supposed to be about freedom and exploration.  I’m sure Missy wouldn’t mind…I’ll mention it to her later.”

 

Actually, poor Joe and Missy haven’t made it out of Asheville yet…that’s part of the joke!  My apologies to those of you reading from Singapore and Sudan.  I’m sure there’s some local humor in this piece that makes no sense at all, but alas, I must go where the muse takes me.  It might help to search on hippie culture or something similar.

           Candy had seduced white women before, but none quite as easily as Missy.  For the next day and a half, she served up a variety of hidden, illegal meat products at the vegetarian coffee shop.   She and Missy made out numerous times in the bathroom, twice in the kitchen, and once in Candy’s Subaru.  They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other.

            Candy was indeed gifted in the ways of love.  At 34, she had been a lesbian her whole life.  She had studied witchcraft and knew all the nuances of Goddess worship.  She considered herself, in fact, to be a goddess.  No woman who had ever seen her large, voluptuous form in the nude ever disagreed.  Most would drop to their knees and gladly pay homage to her thick mound of pubic hair with their tongues.  She repaid them with her skill at wielding a strap-on.

            Missy was indeed a delight to her, though, as a beautiful, young white girl from South Carolina, with damn near perfect breasts.  Candy sensed a fragile side in her young lover, though, and she longed to cradle it.  She decided in the bathroom of their second day together that she wanted to get to know Missy better.  She felt a strong urge to commit.

            “Listen Kitten,” she said, trolling her tongue up Missy’s abdomen and around her breasts.  “How did such a sweet thing like you end up with that skinny white boy out there?”

            “Joe?”  Missy panted.  Candy’s tongue was still swirling around her bare nipples, and the black woman’s fingers had worked their way down between her legs again.  “Hmmm…well…we met on MySpace…he…oh God, Candy…he, uh, wanted to talk about philosophy…I was just horny…yes, right there!!!…I went to see The DaVinci Code with him…awful movie, really, but I fucked him anyway…yes!…now I’m in love with him…you’ll love him too once you get to know him.”

            Candy stopped and came up to look her in the eyes.  She kissed Missy slowly on the lips.  “Is that an invitation to get to know you as well, Kitten?”

            “Yes,” replied Missy with another kiss.  “I mean, why don’t you ride out to Colorado with us?  We’re going to a Libertarian convention.  We’ll have to come back through Asheville, and you said yourself the waitress gig and fortune telling weren’t paying too well! You could ride in the van with us.  Come on!  I’d love it if you’d come,” Missy ended with a soft blush.

            “Alright, let me grab my stuff, and I’ll meet you over at your van in a couple hours.  When do we leave Asheville?”

            “Tomorrow morning.  Joe’s going to smoke pot with the bums tonight.”

            “Perfect.  I’ll be sure to bring some of my toys,” Candy grinned,” and we’ll christen that van Goddess style tonight.”

     Missy had agreed to the cross-country trip a little reluctantly.  She loved Joe, she really did.  He was the closest thing to a normal relationship that she had ever had, and he listened to her.  He treated her like she had a brain!  Most other guys just stared at her breasts.  She wasn’t quite sure that she was ready to go hippie, though.  The armpit hair itched, for one thing, and she was definitely a meat eater at heart.  She was testing the vegetarian waters only out of love for him.

       Several times on the way to Asheville, she had been tempted by fantasies of french fries and cheeseburgers.  The fumes from the bio-diesel made her feel like she was in a Fry Daddy.  The greener Joe got from nausea, the hungrier she got for every kind of fried, meaty delicacy known to man.

       “I really need to tell him that the West is ethanol country,” she reminded herself as they pulled into Asheville, both agreeing on giving the van a couple days of rest.

       The first morning in town, they had both camped out at a vegetarian coffee shop.  She lingered over coffee, while he ate scrambled tofu and chatted about utilitarianism.  Two other men, both looking like vagrants, sat at the table with them.  As it happened, they had PhDs in philosophy as well.  One of them had pulled into town twelve years ago in a van, and just never left.  He pumped gas across the street for a living and could curse a blue streak about the evils of the oil industry.  The other one apparently lived at the shop and wiped tables in exchange for free food.

       Missy listened to the three of them talking to abstraction about J.S. Mill, and she mused to herself about how really no one else on the planet cared.  “God, I’m hungry,” she thought.  The coffee shop smelled like wet hippies and dirty dogs to her.  She looked at Joe’s tofu with disgust.

       “Here, Kitten.  I think you need this,” said a deep, honey-sweet voice, pushing a temphe rueben platter in front of Missy.

       “No thank you,” Missy replied looking up into the face of a large black woman with dreadlocks hanging to her waist.

       “Really, you’ll enjoy it,” the woman insisted with a wink.  “I spiced it up with something from across the street.  You’re too thin to be hanging out in a joint like this.”  The woman walked away, glancing over her shoulder with another wink.

       Missy bit into the sandwich, and felt the old familiar crunch of bacon greeting her palette.  She looked at Joe to see if he had noticed the black waitress or the sandwich, but thankfully he was lost in dialogue with the two bums.  She savored the sandwich, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she noticed the black woman watching her from the counter.

       The whole bisexual thing had definitely been an exaggeration on her part.  She liked women, yes, but not as much as Joe liked the idea of her liking women.  Something about this black woman’s eyes on her, though, sent a shiver down her spine.  Or maybe it was the effect of the pork.  In either case, she was completely aroused.  She glanced at the counter again, and the black woman pointed towards the lady’s room.

       “Ok, I can do this,” she said to herself.  “After all, this trip is supposed to be about freedom and exploration.  I’m sure Joe wouldn’t mind…I’ll mention it to him later.”  She excused herself and made off to the bathroom, closely followed by the black waitress.

This is a story I started for a dear friend of mine named Joe Schmoe and his now ex-girlfriend Pissy Missy.  It stands a better chance of completion if I post it up here.  Enjoy!

“Where am I?” Joe bolted upright out of his sleep, banging his head on the corner of a tiny countertop.

“Fuck!” He rubbed his head, all the while squinting at his surroundings:  back of a VW van, carpeted couch at his feet, mattress on the van floor, and Princess Lea’s metal bikini poster from Return of the Jedi taped to the ceiling of the van.

It was all coming back to him now.  He and Missy had spent the past couple of nights parked under the bypass on the edge of Asheville.  They had left South Carolina a week before in a beat-up VW van outfitted to run on bio-diesel.  The van had been a steal, sold to him by an old hippie who claimed that he just couldn’t handle the bio-diesel smell anymore.

“What do you mean?” Joe had asked him.  “Bio-diesel is great for the environment.”

“”Dude, great for the environment, but hard on the nose!” the old hippie replied.

So, technically, Joe had been warned.  He didn’t listen, though, because he was just excited to find a van that would hold a mattress.  They were going on a road trip across the country.  He had hoped to make it to Colorado by mid-summer for a Libertarian convention.  Missy didn’t really care for Libertarian politics, but she loved him and was willing to follow him anywhere.

They bought the van, and customized it to his liking.  A “Frodo Failed, Bush Got the Ring” bumper sticker adorned the back.  Princes Lea got the coveted space on the van roof because she had ushered Joe into manhood with that metal bikini.  They left home with high hopes of adventure and free love.

They made it to Asheville, NC before the smell of fried oil started to make both of them sick, and the question of “Where exactly do you purchase bio-diesel?” was starting to become an issue.  Asheville, of course, was a mecca for bio-diesel travelers…and vegetarians.

Joe had spent the past two days sitting in an Asheville vegetarian hangout, plotting on a map how far they could make it before running out of fuel again.  For the moment, he was content to leave the van parked, as the fumes were making his pure, vegetarian system heave with nausea.

This trip meant a lot to him.  He had always wanted to be a hippie.  The last chapter of his life had ended with a boring teaching job and a divorce.  This chapter included a beautiful, bisexual woman who actually listened to him, and was willing to grow out her armpit hair.  He knew she was the one…the one who would experiment with him and would make him feel free.

Waking up that morning in the back of the van, he felt around for his glasses.  On the one side of him, he felt the familiar, soft skin of his dear Missy.  On the other side, however, he felt the unfamiliar feeling of coarse dreadlocks and shea butter skin.  He felt around some more.  “Ok, boobs and a very hairy cunt,” he said to himself.  “That’s definitely another woman!”

“Oh Lea,” he glanced up at the blurry image of the Princess.  “What have I done?  And where are my glasses?”