Jen Route 66 Kicks Bloomington

JEN: A GIRL, A CAR, A ROAD: GETTING HER KICKS ON ROUTE 66 ©

CHAPTER 2

Bloomington

[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. As such, the story may or may not totally conform to reality. With the exception of the historical places and people, all other characters, locations, and events in the story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]

NOTE:

This is the second of a series of stories that I wrote in 2005, that will take Jen from Chicago to L.A. on "The Mother Road," U.S. Route 66. Although each story is a stand alone read, for background , connecting threads, and the most enjoyment, the series should be read in chronological order.

HISTORICAL NOTE:

Baron Renfrew, one of the titles of the then eighteen year old Prince of Wales, was on his strictly "unofficial" visit to the US, and the first royal family member to do so since the American Revolution, in September of 1860. He was traveling incognito under the Renfrew name though it fooled no one. He did stay in Dwight to do some pheasant hunting and the property where he stayed is now the seventeen acre Renfrew Park, named for him. He was the son of Queen Victoria and would become King Edward VII in 1901 upon the death of his mother.

******

The four lane version of 66 was much better for Miss Swifty. The two lane version was much more suited to the cars of the '20s through the '50s or '60s what with its narrow, nine foot lanes and other impediments to high speed.

I breezed on down through Braidwood to Dwight at seventy-seven miles past Go. For one ten mile stretch, Miss Swifty was running at well over one hundred miles an hour. YaHoo! Go Swifty, go!

It was a good thing I didn't see any state patrols during that little run. At Dwight, I exited the four lane and drove into town. Although I was no longer interested in the formal classroom, you might have surmised by now that I'm very interested in history and historical sites.

"Dwight?" you ask. "That's just a wide spot in the road in the middle of the corn and soybean fields of the Illinois prairie, isn't it? What history of interest can you find there?"

Well, there's a bit more about Dwight than just a wide spot in the road, but it would take a book to tell all of it. I wouldn't have known otherwise and would have agreed with you had it not been for my sorority sister, Beth Anne, at Bradley my freshman year. She grew up in Dwight and never lost a chance to brag about her "home town" and its slogan, "Not Just A Bump In The Road."

I really wanted to drive past and gawk at, the Dwight Correctional Center--the one for Women. It's the only such prison for women in Illinois. So I drove out west of town on State Route 17 a ways to go take a look. However, I had no desire to go inside the walls.

Opened in November of 1930, on one hundred acres of ground, the institution was originally known as Oakdale Reformatory and later, more popularly as the Dwight Reformatory. Although designed for 800 plus inmates, like most prisons, it is usually overcrowded well above that number.

After I snapped a few pictures of the gray, foreboding walls, I returned to town. I took some pictures of two famous Route 66 gas stations in town.

As I then drove to the First National Bank Building, I noticed a young, "washed out" looking woman standing near the building corner. I parked across the street and took some pictures of the building with both my Polaroid camera and my Leica 35 mm slide camera. The young woman was in one of the Polaroid shots and one or more of the Leica shots.

Finished, I got back into Miss Swifty and drove over to the famous Keeley Institute building to take more pictures. It was once one of the first alcohol treatment centers East of the Mississippi. As I drove back to main street, I again spotted that same young woman, listlessly walking toward me on the other side of the street.

She sure seems to be an odd duck.

I drove around until I located Renfrew Park and got out to take some more pictures. The park was named after a Prince of Wales who once visited the area to hunt pheasants.

I was about to get back into Swifty when I noticed that same young woman again. She was sitting on a park bench, bent over slightly forward, and weeping quietly. I stared at her for a few moments.

The woman looked to be late twenties or early thirties, medium tall, washed out dishwater blonde, with a very pale complexion, drab clothes, and who gave off a general air of defeatism.

What the hell, what's to lose?

Looking both ways first, I walked over across the street to her.

As I walked up, she snarled, "What the hell do YOU want?"

It was quite obvious the unspoken last word of her exclamation was, 'bitch.' I stood silent for a moment, until she said, "Well, bitch?"

"I've seen you around town this afternoon and now here. I just wanted to see if you were ok."

"Well, Miss nosey, I damn well ain't and what the hell business is it of yours how I feel. And why the fuck you takin' my picture? I saw you takin' it, just before you got in that pretty little car of yours."

My reply sounded a little flat, but I said, "I wasn't taking your picture--I was taking a picture of the bank building. It is one of only three banks designed by a very famous man by the name of Frank Lloyd Wright."

"So who the fuck cares about Frank Floyd. You took my picture and I don't like that!"

I let the name error go, she wasn't interested anyway. I rummaged around in my camera bag that I'd automatically slung over my shoulder when I got out of Miss Swifty, pulled out the offending Polaroid, and gave it to her.

"Here, take it. As you can see, it's difficult to make out your face as I was pretty far away in order to get the whole building framed in the picture."

I didn't tell her I had several more shots on my slide camera.

She looked at the picture, said "Humph," as she stuck it in her blouse pocket. "So whatcha starin' at now?" she asked.

"Sorry," I said, "I was just wondering what happened to make you look so sad and unhappy. That's all. My name is Jen, what's yours?"

"Jules," she said, "what's it to you?"

"Jeeze," I answered, "I was just trying to be human and helpful, for God's sake."

"Yeah? Well we don't get much of that where I come from, that's for sure!"

"And where DO you come from?" I asked.

"The pen, lady, better known as Dwight Reformatory. Been there ten years to the day as of today."

I asked, naively, "Didn't you get time off for good behavior?"

Her curt reply was, "My behavior wasn't good!"

"Oh."

"Yeah," was her reply again.

"What got you in there for that long?"

"Several accessory charges to a couple of burglaries--not to mention a nasty attitude in court."

By now, it was late afternoon, so I asked, "I'm getting hungry, would you like something to eat? I'll buy."

"Yeah," Jules said, "I ain't had nothin' but that prison slop they call food. 'Shit on a shingle' for lunch today just before they kicked me out."

"That sounds yucky, to say the least. Come on, get in the car and we'll go get a bite."

I drove to The Mansion. On the way, Jules said, "Cute car. Didn't know they made one like this."

"No," I said, "I suppose not. You've been away a while. Ten years ago, they made the first one of these and it looked nothing like this one. It didn't even have a V-8 in it, just an in line six cylinder, souped up a little, but a six banger none-the-less."

We arrived and I parked Swifty in the lot.

"The light is still good enough," I said, "I want to take a couple of pictures first and then we can go in."

I got some snaps of The Mansion, the grounds, the carriage house and, of course, the phallic-like water tower. The grounds and buildings were and are another historic Dwight site. At one time, it was the home of John Oughton who was, among other things, the partner of Dr. Keeley.

"Ok, I'm done, let's go in, I'm starved."

It was early enough in the evening that we got by without reservations. When a waiter appeared, I asked for a glass of wine and coffee and Jules ordered whiskey with a beer chaser. Her first one did not last long and when the waiter returned to take our order, she immediately asked for another.

I ordered Chicken Cordon Bleu with corn, mashed potatoes, and a tossed salad with blue cheese dressing. Jules ordered T-bone steak, medium, mashed potatoes, and succotash. She skipped the salad/soup choice. As we ate, I coaxed her story out of Jules.

"Ahhh," she said, "it was that damned bastard I was living with at the time. He was a small time crook, trying to get into the big league. He didn't have what it took, but he didn't know that. He was into sticking up liquor stores and such."

"You knew what he was doing?"

"Shit yes. He made me drive the fucking car. It wasn't that I hated the job so much, I just knew he wasn't goin' much further in his career than where he was. On our last job before we got caught, I ran down a small kid with the car in our hurry to get away--the liquor store owner was shootin' at us."

"Wow," I said, were either of you hit? Was the child hurt?"

"Yeah, Billy Boy was hit hard. I heard the thud of the the bullet and his grunt. I looked over at him and saw all the blood and ran into a damned telephone pole in the process!"

"Billy Boy died before the ambulance got there. I was in the hospital a month with injuries from the crash. Then it was jail, trial, and that hell hole I just got out of."

"What happened to the child you hit?"

"The kid caught a glancing blow and got a broken arm and was unconscious for three days. Lucky for me she survived--there were manslaughter charges waiting for me if she hadn't."

I was silent for a bit and then asked, "What are your plans now?"

"Got none." Jules answered. "The state gave me this outfit I'm wearing cause they had to burn what I was wearin' when I went in, twenty-five bucks, and said 'Hit the road, sister.' I got no family, no kin, no job, nowhere to go. Where's twenty-five bucks going to take me and how long will it feed me as well? I don't see I got much choice but to sell my ass."

"Oh, surely you can find something other than that to do!"

"Yeah?" she asked, using her favorite expression, "like what?"

"Well, you could waitress or something!"

"Shit, lady, I ain't even got a high school education. That lets out an awful lot of jobs. Waitressing won't fucking work either. I'd piss off a customer in two minutes flat, not to mention the boss a minute later. I don't take orders or being ordered around very well."

Our bill came. I paid with my brand new plastic credit card. Those things are common place now, but they were just being issued in the middle and late sixties. Mine came in the mail, just like today, and the bank cheerfully asked, in the letter for application, if I would really like to have one.

Obviously, I said yes. After signing the credit card slip, I said to Jules, "It's getting late in the day. How 'bout if I get us a motel room. We can talk and maybe we can come up with something for you. At least you'll have a place to stay for the night."

Jules wanted to hit a bar or bars, but I vetoed that as a bad idea for just then. I rented us a double bed room in a nearby motel from an old witch of a woman at the desk who was not terribly happy to rent to two single women.

Jules had only the clothes on her back, so she stripped to her bra and panties, "To get comfortable," she said. Jules filled out that bra quite nicely, I thought.

I was still in my shorts and tube top, so I kicked off my sandals and we then spent a lot of time talking, but came up with no real answers to Jules' problems. We eventually reached a point where we had talked it about as far as we were going to take it and, after a short period of silence, Jules said she wanted to watch a movie. She called the desk to get the price for a movie and a small projector on which to show it.

So I used my credit card to get her set and picked the movie and projector from the front desk. Jules sat in the recliner chair and I sat on the edge of the bed as the movie started. The movie Jules picked out was a skin flick and the action started out hot and heavy from the very beginning. It was a grainy film, but passable.

During a hot lesbian scene that followed a number of hot fuck and suck sessions, Jule's right hand dropped between her legs and she began to moan as her fingers got busy over her panties on her pussy. It wasn't long and I too had my hand under my shorts, rubbing my bare pussy.

As the women in the lesbian scene reached their climax, Jules exclaimed, "Oh, SHIT!" and rose from the recliner to walk over to me.

When she reached me on the bed, she pushed me down on my back and ripped my shorts down and off before I could blink. She was so aggressive that the word "rape" came to mind. The saving factor was that I was only too willing to let her have her way with me.

Jules dove head first into my already wet and dripping pussy and proceeded to give me a tongue lashing I wouldn't soon forget. She had a talented tongue indeed. She used both hands to spread open my pussy. She licked up and down my exposed slit with abandon. While she used her mouth and one hand on my clit--licking, sucking, and biting me to ecstasy, she used the fingers of her other hand to invade my love canal.

I couldn't help it, I couldn't hold back any longer. I was so aroused by the movie and then her mouth work on me that I shook and shivered, while drooling ever more pussy cum on Jule's face and fingers.

She was in a frenzy of lust as she increased the tempo of her licking and finger fucking to near warp speed. I suddenly spasmed into a hard, wracking orgasm. Jules, finally looked up, grinned, and offered me her fingers, soaked in my cum, for me to lick and suck. I eagerly took them into my mouth and did just that.

Jules quickly slipped out of her bra and soaked panties, climbed on the bed beside me, and rolled me on top of her.

She said, "Now you do me. I really need to cum, but good."

Jule's boobs were more than a big man's handful each and were tipped with dark brown, silver dollar sized aureola. The nipples jutting out from them were an inch long, rock hard, and of a slightly darker shade of brown.

Her pussy was covered in a full, rich bush of dark hair, the same color as on her head. I scootched down and stuck my nose and mouth into that lush bush and drank in the heady aroma of her aroused sex as I lapped up her honey.

I licked and caressed her labia, staying away from her oozing slit at first. This elicited groans and moans anew from Jules. I just couldn't stay out of her slit though. My tongue lapped hard while I used my fingers to toy with her mons through her bush, reaching down ever closer to her clit and finally withdrawing back just before reaching it. She bucked hard into my face and fingers.

Without warning, I left her pussy and scootched up again to lick and suck on her tits and nipples, nuzzling in the valley between occasionally. Julie moaned appreciatively as I worked.

"Good, bitch, but I liked you doin' my pussy better."

"Oh, I'll get back there soon enough, Jules."

I forsook her boobs and slowly licked my way back down her chest to her navel. After first rimming her navel several times, I pushed my tongue all the way to the bottom before withdrawing and going all the way, in a wet trail, to her pussy slit again.

There, I gave Jule's clit a thorough work over again with my tongue and teeth and then slipped down her pussy slit to the opening of her love canal. I inserted my middle finger while still tonguing her and began stroking her G-Spot. Jules, like me, already horny before I started on her, could stand no more and broke into a bed pounding, multiple orgasm.

"Oh my God," cried Jules, "you'd rival any Dyke inside."

We spent quite some time more, enjoying each other's bodies before we decided we needed to shower and get at least some sleep before the morrow.

I did not wake until the late morning sunlight filtering in through the curtained window did the job of an alarm clock for me. I looked over to the other bed and found it empty. The bathroom door was shut, so I assumed Jules was occupying it.

I didn't get the first inkling that all was not as it was supposed to be until I went to the sink to wash my face. The stool and tub shower occupy the bathroom, the sink is on the room side of the bathroom. There on the sink counter was the contents of my purse--minus a couple of items, including the purse. My wallet was there, but the three hundred dollars cash it contained was gone. Fortunately, the credit card was left behind in the wallet.

I don't think Jules had any inkling as to what it was, or if she did, decided the risk wasn't worth taking. My make up kit, compact, and lipstick tube were also missing.

My God, Miss Swifty... Ahhh, there they are, my car keys!

Evidently Jules had enough sense not to steal a car as visible and identifiable as a Corvette. Thank the Lord for small favors. Small? It was one hell of a big deal that I still had my Miss Swifty.

I also found a note, scribbled on motel stationary. It said, "Sorry--well, not really--but I needed the cash worse than you. I'll solve my own problems, thank you just the same. Take your bleeding heart to someone else. Next time, don't be so damned trusting. I'm outta here!" There was no incriminating signature.

"Well, shit!" I said out loud, to the empty room.

At least everything can easily be replaced, even the money. It could've been worse--she could've taken the car and the card.

I used a couple of plastic bags from the room to corral my personal affects 'til I could buy another purse and then stepped into the shower. I sleep naked, so I was already undressed. The shower cleansed my body and my mind. I put the incident with Jules out of my consciousness as a lesson learned and at the prospect of a new day and new adventures.

As I toweled off and then dropped the damp thing in a heap on the floor by the shower, I inspected my naked body in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Not bad, not bad at all. Still prime cut. Cute face, upturned nose, kissable mouth with nice smile, full, perky and pointy boobs with nipples the size guys die for, slender waist, and still no sign of a belly pouch. Add to that svelte thighs, tapered calves, very tight ass--yeaahhh, not bad at all!

I climbed slowly into my weekday "uniform" of short shorts, sans panties; halter top, sans bra that was loose enough to flaunt my cleavage and then some. If I bent over much I would be in danger of dropping my boobs completely clear. Sandals, sans socks completed my ensemble.

This was a much more comfortable driving costume than more conservative forms of dress, especially in a low seat sports car. If I thought I might be doing something that would require a little more covering up, I would substitute culottes in place of the short shorts and a more conservative blouse in place of the halter. But still, no underwear.

I walked to the front desk and turned in my keys. The advertised continental breakfast was indeed a "continental breakfast," consisting of coffee, orange juice and a croissant. Not much, but enough, especially the coffee, to enable me to drive down to Bloomington where I planned on getting a full breakfast for a growing girl.

After my third cup of coffee, I ambled out to Miss Swifty. She was parked in the shade of the building yet, so I did not have to get the towel out to cover hot, leather seats. I got in and fired her up, and, with exhaust pipes rumbling, drove her out to the four lane 66 to head on down the road.