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Orgy on Route 66

Orgy on Route 66

Jay has a thing for waitresses. I think it’s because they bring her coffee, which I practically never do—and then she gets to stare at their asses as they walk away. “We’re staying in the motel tonight, but we’re probably taking off in the morning” she says to a cute, blue-eyed freckly girl.

This particular waitress isn’t my type at all. She’s very slim and girly. She seems like a cool person, but she isn’t registering on my sexual radar.

But she’s obviously registering on Jay’s.

“You’re so sweet,” Jay says in response to an offer of sugar for her coffee. “Why don’t you just stick your finger in there and twirl it around.”

“Oh Christ. I can’t believe you just said that,” I moan. But the waitress smiles. I try to distance myself from the cheesy pick-up line by lighting a cigarette. I love that Bob’s Big Boy has a smoking section. I look into the mirror next to our booth. My roots need a touchup but I’m wearing my favorite dress: stretchy black jersey, knee-length, long sleeves. It only has a few holes in it. I’m probably too covered up for Kingman, Arizona, even in January. But it was the only thing clean. We’ve been on the road for three weeks and haven’t stayed in one place long enough to do a load of wash. Jay is wearing a threadbare Harley T-shirt and bush-skimmingly low Levis.

The waitress is of course wearing her uniform. She fills Jay’s cup to overflowing and says, “I get off at six,” before walking away with an exaggerated swish.

I give Jay a pointed look and say, “Jay. I need something a little more substantial than pussy for dinner.” But she knows I’m playing with her.

She pats my hand and says, “Drink your coffee, baby. We’ve got a few hours to kill. Why don’t we go back to the motel?”

***

We picked this Best Western out of the Damron Women’s Traveler so I’m not really surprised to see another dyke couple in the hot tub. They are pretty cute. In fact, the butcher of the two is pretty damn good looking.

I can tell Jay is getting antsy for some fun. That’s my girl. She’s got a non-stop libido. So big, I can’t keep her satisfied. I’d have to fuck her twenty-four-seven. Anyway, she’s had the waitress habit since day one, so it wouldn’t be fair of me to suddenly start complaining.

I give the other two gals a nod as I slide into the water. Jay does the same and puts her hand on my shoulder so they’ll know we’re together. We talk a little bit about how hot it is, how odd it is to see so many dykes at a random Best Western in the middle f bumfuck Arizona, and other chit-chatty stuff. Susan, that’s the femme’s name, hands me a joint, so I smoke it and hand it over to her girlfriend, whose name is Dana. She tokes up and passes it on and soon the four of us are happily making plans to head to the Grand Canyon together tomorrow.

I lean my head back and close my eyes and Dana takes the opportunity to push her foot between my thighs. I hear kissing sounds and low moans. When I pick my head up to investigate I see Jay and Susan entwined. My girl has a way of getting parties started.

Dana kinda looks like a surfer boy; I think this to myself as she pushes me against the side of the tub.

“We should probably go somewhere more private,” she says. So I disengage just long enough to announce “There’s a king-size bed in our room.”

I’m excited by the beauty of her body as I watch her walk across the parking lot. She’s far bigger than I’d normally go for, the muscles I mean, and Jay looks dwarfed as she walks alongside her.

The freckly waitress catches up to our happy little band in the parking lot. Must be six o’clock. She hollers, “Hey ladies wait up,” so I sprint up the burning cement stairs and throw open the door to the room. Five sweaty dykes tumble in and fall on the bed, quickly shedding four wet bathing suits and one polyester uniform.

The waitress flops right onto her back in the middle of the bed and Susan, without so much as an introduction, dives between her freckly, tanned thighs. I hear her moan “mmm, wet pussy.” And that’s the last I see of her face for the next ten minutes.

I jump on the bed and stroke the freckly face of the waitress. She looks so happy. Before Jay and I started this journey we call our relationship, I was living a suburban nightmare. My partner and I hadn’t had sex in nearly a year. Before bed I used to hum “Love will keep us together,” Captain and Tenille style, to keep from mooning over the dull ache between my legs. And then this sexy dyke named Jay parked a fugly yellow Dodge van in front of the bookstore where I spent eight hours a day. She waltzed into my life in thrift-store threads and long stringy rock-star hair and showed me a whole lot of sex and living. It’s just like love, but better.

Jay and Dana kneel at the edge of the bed and watch in admiration. But I want them to join us. “Get off your lazy asses and come over here and help us,” I yell at them.