Shortly after we moved from Alaska to Montana, I received an urgent message to the effect that my presence was needed ASAP in Anchorage to sign some important papers.
I couldn't afford to fly to Anchorage, but I had a reasonably new Ford pickup, so I decided to drive over the newly opened Alcan highway. As a way of defraying some of my trip expenses, I put an ad in the local paper seeking a passenger.
A woman living in Livingston -- a railroad town about 30 miles east of Bozeman -- answered, so I drove over to meet her. I can't remember her name, but she was a reasonably attractive woman in her late 30s to mid 40s (to me, at 23, she seemed really old), who wanted to join her husband in Anchorage and was willing to pay her own travel expenses plus $200 to me for gas money. That seemed fair, so on the appointed day I drove to Livingston and picked her up. Then we bravely headed north.
We crossed the border into Canada at Sweetgrass, MT, and drove through Lethbridge, Calgary and Edmonton, turning west to Grand Prairie. Three or four days had gone by, and all was going well. We were able to rent separate rooms at night, and our relationship was pleasant and business-like.
But then we reached Pouce Coupe in British Columbia. We probably could (should) have gone on to Dawson Creek where the Alcan Highway really begins (Mile 0), but it gets dark early in the fall that far north, and I was dead tired. You must remember that in the fall of 1949, the road ended for all practical purposes at Edmonton. The little towns west of Edmonton were isolated prairie communities linked only by a railroad and the dirt track (And I mean dirt!) we were following.
The (only) hotel had but a single available room. I turned away from the registration desk and asked her what she thought we should do. She shrugged, so I rented the room. We had supper and trudged up the stairs.
There was only one bed in the room, and the bath was down the hall, so I returned to the lobby while she undressed and crawled into bed. After a decent 15-minute interval, I returned to the room. The woman was in bed, buried in the quilt. Thinking she was probably asleep, I stripped down as I usually do, turned out the light, and carefully slid into my side of the bed.
This was before the days of queen and king sized beds or non-sag mattresses, and although I resolutely lay on my right side with my back toward her, it wasn't long before she rolled over, and I felt the seam on her bra scrape across my back! All thoughts of sleep and my fatigue vanished. I had an instant, huge, and very embarrassing erection!
I lay quietly, hoping she would think I was asleep, and had begun to think she was, when her arm circled my body and she molded her body to mine, spoon fashion. Involuntarily, I stiffened although I was still foolishly pretending to be asleep. My heart was pounding with excitement and my cock was almost painfully engorged, desperately in need of the hot, wet solace that I knew lay between her thighs.
Her hand caressed my chest and her fingers brushed my nipples. I could feel myself beginning to quiver with suppressed need, and her hand drifted lower over my abdomen, "accidentally" colliding with my massive hard-on. "Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I thought you were asleep. I'll turn over."
I almost came in that instant. While she energetically turned, a thousand conflicting thoughts raced through my fevered mind. On the one hand, I remembered my 22nd birthday present -- the mind-boggling threesome Jan and I had had with Anisha at Clarks Point. On the other hand, I had to recognize that just possibly she had spoken the truth; that she had thought I was asleep, and that any advances I made now would be highly improper.
While my mind was attempting to sort through this welter of Victorian morality, my body mindlessly followed hers, and I now rested on my left side, my right arm around her waist while my knees rested against the backs of her legs, and my enormously swollen cock nudged against the crack of her ass.