Travels With Charli
Chapter 1: Charlie's Story

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Slow, 2nd POV,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Charlie's Story - Charli is a free spirit in every sense of the word, she's sworn to fun and loyal to none! Charline is snooty bitch with a mysterious hidden agenda. Together they drive poor Charles nearly mad as he tries to settle down and build his dream in the odd sleepy rural town of Lovett, Texas. But is either Charli ready to settle down and join him?

I had barely turned seventeen when I met Charli for the first time and since that day, off and on, she has been a constant part of my life. If nothing else as a masturbatory vision when alone late at night. I loved her or I thought loved her but mostly from afar.

We shared lust but it was never really true love. Our bodies occasionally joined together but our souls distinctly remained separated. Her real name was 'Charlie', the same as mine but she always dropped off the end 'e' and never used it in writing. I guess her parents had wanted a boy but I've been told that Charlie isn't all that unusual of a girl's name.

I will never forget our first meeting. Charli was working as a part-time day-shift waitress for a small greasy spoon diner where my father was doing some electrical lighting repairs and upgrades. I was working for my father all that summer essentially as slave labor and my mood and attitude were never good in those days even under the best of circumstances. However, when I saw Charli bending over to serve coffee in a white blouse unbuttoned half-way to her navel and a short skirt that nearly reached heaven, I was instantly smitten. She seemed to be just a little older than me, probably eighteen but not by much.

For the next two days as we worked, I took every opportunity to speak and flirt with her but it was hard — my dad had always kept me under an extremely tight leash and I was only rarely out of his sight when on the job. Still, we snatched a few moments here and there and exchanged a lot of secretive smiles and winks. How I got any work done at all is beyond me!

Late on the final afternoon of our work at the diner, my father had sat down with the diner owner to review the final costs and expenses. I was hovering, bored, nearby when Charli came into his office to 'borrow me for a moment', supposedly to take a look at a flickering light in the ladies room. She took me by the hand and dragged me into the women's restroom (which did not appear to have any lighting problems) and planted a huge kiss wet on me.

What happened next still utterly surprises me to this day. After making sure that the door was locked, she quickly pulled down her panties to her ankles in a single swift motion and bent over the sink.

"Hurry up Love," she said in a husky whisper, we won't have long. I've been watching your hard-on for me all day. Let's get to it — I'm on the pill and clean, so you don't need a rubber. Give it to me quickly!"

Give it to her I did! I mounted her from behind and grabbed a barely restrained tit in each hand and went right to work. It was the most fun I'd ever had on the job!

Being young and relatively inexperienced (but not quite a virgin) I sure didn't last very long but then we really didn't have much time either. I came in probably less than a minute but she didn't seem disappointed and declined to participate in a second round, as my cock still remained pretty rock hard. There are some advantages to being just seventeen.

"Sorry, love — no more time for that now. Maybe later." She said with a winked smile and a goodbye kiss just before we left the ladies room pretending that nothing of any consequence had happened. We had no further chances to speak that afternoon, as my father and I soon left the diner for good, our work completed. I didn't see Charli again for nearly a month but it certainly was not due to any lack of effort on my part.

I usually worked from dawn to often past dusk with my father every day of week that summer, except for occasional Sundays. By the time I could manage on my own to go to Charli's work after my own was done, she had long since left for the day. Often for one of her "other night jobs" I was told. We exchanged a few notes and late evening phone calls back and forth but getting our paths to cross again was going to take some significant effort.

She had declined my previous offers of taking her out on a date, invariably due to scheduling conflicts. Sunday, my only really free day, seemed to be a busy day for her. Eventually I was made an offer that I just could not refuse. If I could pick her up from a friend's house at 6:30 this Saturday evening, we could spend the entire evening together!

To make this happen however, I was going to have to make a deal with the devil himself - my father.

My memory is not the world's greatest but the conversation went a lot like this:

Me: (After considerable trepidation) Dad, can I borrow the car this Saturday night at about six?

Dad: Certainly not, whatever would you need to borrow my car for?

Me: (Boldly) Because the heartless prick that employs me doesn't pay me enough to buy or maintain a car of my own.

Dad: What does a stupid kid like you need with money anyway? You'd waste it on a car, or buying beer and condoms for shagging those slag girlfriends of yours. Or even worse, feeding stupid thoughts about going to college. This way I'm saving you from both a fiery car wreck and two painful dripping social diseases at the same time. (Note: Dad was not a Brit but he had spent a lot of time with Aussies during the war and habitually used their slang if he was trying to be especially sarcastic)

Me: Think of it rather this way, the sooner I get some money saved up the sooner my worthless ass will be out of your constant sight.

Dad: There is a cheery thought and almost worth it too. But no. Besides, I might need it or your mother might need it. (Utter nonsense, once dad was home at night he never went anywhere except to his bourbon bottle — and mother hadn't driven a car in over twenty years by then).

Me: (Semi-desperate now) Since neither reason nor familial love or cooperation have any meaning for you, I must now stoop to your own base level of self-interest. What is it worth to you in terms of my future labor, for an all too brief and fleeting loan of your priceless possession, which is truly of near incalculable worth?

Now we were finally getting somewhere. The negotiations were heated and my bargaining power was very limited. I wanted to go on that date with Charli bad enough to suffer most of the rest of the summer as a result. Suffer I did, for the next two months virtually all of my free time was now gone — plus the loss my overtime pay for work on weekends for the rest of the summer.

But it was worth it!

She gave me a blow job in the car minutes after picking her up. We made goo-goo-googly eyes at each other and played footsy under the dinner table at the restaurant. I don't even remember the movie at all as we were parked at the far back of the drive-in theater and had our hands and mouths all over each other within minutes. We ended up having furious sex in both the front and the back seats and she still managed somehow to keep me rock hard the whole time. Finally, Charli talked me into taking a late night nude swim in the pond of a public park near her apartment complex and we ended up making love one final time while lying wet on the grass.

Thank God for being seventeen! I read many years later that this is the age when men reach their top sexual peak and I can believe it but I was exhausted for days afterwards!

On the short drive to her home about midnight, Charli was giving me marvelous head in the car again, trying to coax my very sated cock into one last slight bit of life. I think she would have failed, until she cried out right as I was about to pull into her front parking lot.

"Shit! Keep driving, go around the block or something. My girlfriend is back early!"

Parked just around the corner, Charli explained a bit further and finally managed to make me hard again one last time.

Charli had already admitted earlier to me that she had several active lovers. This apartment in fact belonged to one of her main ones at the moment, a slightly older woman in her 30's! Lesbian love was nothing at all new to Charli and the arrangement at the moment was a good one. She slightly tended to prefer men lovers to women but enjoyed lovemaking with both equally and often alternated juggling a main boyfriend and girlfriend at the same time.

Her girlfriend apparently didn't mind too much if Charli came home occasionally full of cum but didn't care much for cock herself. Charli in fact had never ever bothered to get an apartment of her own, she just migrated between various friends houses - and she had a lot of them.

Charli whispered that she wanted one last load of my cum in her mouth "as a surprise for Amanda", she giggled and got right to work. Amanda did get her surprise but not before Charli and I had reached a complete understanding with each other.

Charli was, as she herself said, "Sworn to fun and loyal to none!" Sex between us would be just exactly that, just sex. She did not want any kind of restrictions on her other relationships and had no interest whatsoever in 'going steady' or anything else remotely leading to a serious relationship. 'No matter how good the sex was.'

With a last sticky peck on the cheek, Charli disappeared into her girlfriend's apartment. I had hoped to be able to see her again after the summer was over but it would be five years before I next saw her again.

The rest of that long summer was a hell that I would rather not recall. My one night of bliss with Charli had ensured that I would have no further free time until school began for my Senior year of High School that fall. By then Charli had moved on and I received no further calls nor any letters from her.

I started to emotionally move on myself dating a considerable portion of the available and willing young ladies I met at school that fall. Already I was growing like a weed and was tall, well tanned from my summer work at endless construction sites and alleged to be reasonably handsome. I hit far more home runs with the ladies than I did weak singles but none of them ever felt 'special' to me. I tried hard not to break too many hearts in the process but I was invariably the 'dumper' who seemed constantly ready to flutter like a butterfly to a new and different flower to try and find what I seemed to be missing. The word eventually spread around and by the time I graduated the following early summer, I was without a serious girlfriend and had few prospects for any likely new ones.

Besides my mind at that time was focused on other thoughts. About a month after graduation I would turn eighteen and I was resolved to leave home at the earliest possible moment.

Now is as good a time as any to backup just a bit and explain the troubled relationship I had with my Dad.

Simply put, my father was a world-class asshole who never showed the slightest concern for anyone else other than himself. I was always somehow a complete disappointment to him in every manner that I could be measured. I don't think his relationship with my mother was much better. She dealt with him by pointedly ignoring him 98% of the time they were at home together. They had separate bedrooms, ate separately and led apparently separate lives — stuck together in the same house.

My mother was always making excuses for his behavior and the usual one was "The War". After awhile, even she began to realize that wasn't quite enough of a reason to act like an utter asshole for the rest of his entire life. For at least the last ten years of his life "asshole' was her public name for her husband and I suspect it had been her private name for him for much longer.

Dad had joined the Navy as soon as he turned 18 in 1943 and had been a gunner's mate for an anti-aircraft battery on a small radar picket destroyer for the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa. Once during a short break between kamikaze raids off of Okinawa, he had gone below to grab some candy bars, which were the crew's main food during the long periods stuck at battle stations when there was no other chow available. A lone Zero chose that time to crash into the side deck of the destroyer killing all of his buddies at his gun crew and a good many other folks besides. The destroyer didn't sink but a lot of folks had died and his ship was knocked out of the rest of the war.

My mother thought that he just could not forgive himself for being away from his duty post when his fellow sailors had died doing their duty. My father would never, ever speak of anything that had happened in the war.

He and my mother had been High School sweethearts and supposedly he had been an 'alright' person back then. She had waited for him to return from the war and they were soon married. She admitted to me later that this new man, who came home from war, was not the boy that had left her. However they married regardless. She hinted to me once that she had made a choice between two suitors but had made a bad mistake and chose the wrong one out of loyalty rather than love.

If he was hard on himself, he became even harder on everyone else around him. Coming home after the war, he became a Master Electrician but did not seem to be able to hold a job working for others for long. Eventually he became a sort of contract sub-contractor, handling mostly home improvement and small business projects along with a crew of other semi-independent specialists. He had a bit of business on his own but lacked the personality to grow it into much of a success.

My parents had three older children before I came along much later as an apparent total surprise. My siblings are all a lot older than I am and frankly we never seemed to share anything other than a last name in common. I always seemed to feel a bit out of step and out of place. In any case, by the time I was old enough to notice them much, they were already grown up or nearly so. They already had their own lives and didn't have much interest in a young kid brother at least ten years younger than they were.

Only one, my oldest sister, had gone to college and much against Dad's wishes. She then kind of made a complete hash out of it and had gotten knocked up by a hippie campus radical in the mid 1960's. They married and soon divorced, she remarried and soon divorced — repeat ad nauseaum. My other brother and sister fared little better, with relatively low end menial jobs and an impressive collection of failed relationships of their own.

I resolved early in life that I was not going to mess up my own life the way everyone else around me had done. I wasn't overly endowed with brains though and I had to work hard to earn my B's and C's in school (D's mostly in math). I wasn't 'stupid' but it was a rare conversation with my Dad that didn't involve him using that word to describe me at least once. It certainly didn't improve my self-esteem very much and made me very prone to thinking at least twice before I opened my mouth to speak.

My relationship with my long-suffering mother is more complicated. For now I'll just remark that she was an increasingly remote figure in my life that seemed either unable or unwilling to give me much in the way of real outwardly expressed motherly love or affection. She was a devout Catholic and in times of trouble it was to the church she would run for solace. She kept her thoughts to herself, rarely even discussed her problems with her grown-up older children. She seemed to love me in a remote and distant sort of way but I also got the feeling that my birth had been a bad mistake that was much regretted.

It was the day after my thirteenth birthday, an early Saturday morning during a lovely summer school recess, when I first began to have to deal with my Dad on a far too regular basis. That conversation went something sort of like this:

Dad: Son, get your lazy stupid butt out of bed. The sun is coming up and there is work to be done.

Me: (Groggy) Whaaa?

Dad: You. Now. Up.

Me: (Slightly more awake) Why?

Dad: You're 13 now, not a boy anymore. It's time to start learning how to grow up and be a man. You're coming in to work with me from now on this summer.

Me: (Lots of complaining that accomplished absolutely nothing)

Dad: You're too stupid to probably amount to much of anything but I'm going to use these years to try and teach you a thing or two and the first lesson will be to be to obey me and do as I say and when I say!

- (Insert long interlude of the first lesson being liberally applied with a sturdy belt, repeated early and often for the next couple of years)

In short, I spent the next three years working nearly every Saturday and school holiday doing unpaid slave labor for my father, first as a go-fer, then later learning the more elemental skills of the electrical trade. By the time I turned sixteen, I had developed just enough smarts to start to demand some limited rights of my own — once I learned how to use the Child Labor Law against him. That fight was ugly and brutal but for once I outlasted him and won my major fighting points. I would now receive a modest hourly pay (the current minimum wage) with overtime payment for any work done on weekends.

We had established a sort of armed détente and as I was now bigger than my father and in good physical shape from my seemingly endless manual labor, he didn't dare take any more liberties with his big leather belt. He slapped me once and I slapped him back hard enough to knock him on his ass. That pretty much ended the physical abuse. Our war now became a verbal one where it was abundantly clear that each of us had no love or respect for the other.

Starting my senior year, I began saving every penny that I could hoard for the day I would move away from home. This also hurt me with the girls by giving me the reputation for being a 'cheap date', one of the worst offenses possible to young female minds, undoubtedly hastened my growing periods of celibacy. In the end it was still worth it.

At 12:01 in the morning of my eighteenth birthday I left home and never again set foot in my father's house or even spoke with him ever again.

My job options seemed fairly good. I had a valid Apprentice Electrician certificate and had far more years of experience than most other Apprentices had. I scrambled up some decent written references from some the larger contractors I had done work for. That, plus an apparent eagerness to succeed, helped me find a decent paying part-time Electrician's Helper job that let me afford a tiny apartment and a well-abused but sound running pickup truck that could reliably transport me to a job site.

Things were looking pretty good for a while despite the economy being really slow. I held on to my job okay but I couldn't seem to get any additional work hours or be hired as full-time. As I currently had little extra pocket money and no savings, I decided I needed at least another part-time job and there was a local 'Awful Waffle' near my apartment that was looking for a late night cook, training provided. The money wasn't good but every penny would help.

Actually this sounded good to me. Despite having been around electrical work for most of my life, I didn't really 'enjoy' my job. I was beginning to feel that after the passage of a few more years I was very likely to start hating my job. I was more than willing to try something new on the side — if it didn't work out, no great loss!

The 'Awful Waffle' is a cult fixture of the American South, much like Stuckey's is to the southeast, White Castle Burgers to the northern and mid-western states, or Tim Horton's is up in Canada. There is an old, old joke: 'What has four tits and only 13 teeth? The night shift at the Awful Waffle.' Old jokes usually survive for the reason that there is usually some truth behind them but things were slightly different at this one. The head waitress and Manager Priscilla had lost a breast to a cancer mastectomy a few years before but still had most of her original teeth. We got along just fine.

Our chain was sunk in the bedrock at the bottom of the restaurant food chain world. If a cook had any particular talent, or if a waitress had any remaining youth or good looks, each would have been elsewhere else further up the food chain, at a Shoney's or even a Denny's. But every night, especially after the bars closed at 2:00AM, we would be packed with customers. The food was terrible and the service indifferent to say the least but every night they came to eat here anyway.

I found I loved the work. Most of my High School peers had gone to work for the local Six Flags Park or worked at other more normal teenage fast food places. I had never had that opportunity and learning the art of managing a kitchen was both challenging and rewarding. I got the basics down in just a few days and was ready to solo by the end of my first week. Soon I was down to a regular work routine of waking up at 11:30 at night to be at work at Midnight every Friday, Saturday & Sunday nights, working until 6:30 when the day cook came in, then getting a brief shower before being at my day electrical job at 8AM.

Somehow, for nearly a year I was able to keep this up, getting only a few hours of sleep every evening during weekends. I was only able to date on weeknights now but I still got luckier than I ought to have with the opposite sex. I can admit it now but I was a bit callous in those days. I was just looking for sex and wasn't looking for any meaningful relationships with women. My 'chat up' technique was fairly direct and brutal. I'd straight out ask the young lady in the first few minutes of our conversation if she wanted to go back to my place and bump uglies. Sure, I had my face slapped a few times but you would be surprised the number of times they'd would just shrug and say 'Yeah, let's go.' Like me, they were just there at that bar or club to find someone to go home with and have some meaningless fun for a few hours. I am still a little ashamed of how directly I went about it back then.

I was young and more than a little sleep deprived, and I'm proud to say I soon grew out of it. Still, that first year of 'freedom' was one of the happiest years of my life.

My downfall resulted from making an acquaintance and doing a 'favor' that came back to bite me all over. I had sort of made friends with a guy who worked the swing shift at a big motorcycle repair company and came into the Awful Waffle every Friday night after his work week was done. He lived in the next apartment complex down the block from mine and spent most of his time tinkering with his own motorcycles, which seem a cool thing to me at the time. We spent some time hanging out at each other's places, drank some beers, watched football and occasionally smoked a jay or two. Nothing heavy. One Sunday morning I walked over to his place and he had a favor to ask of me. He had an old motorcycle frame sitting around at work that was in the way taking up space. It was pretty much worthless and belonged to a guy that had left some other stuff for repair but then had never paid. Would I help him do some cleaning up and just get rid of it?

"Sure", I stupidly said and within the hour we had picked up the frame and dumped it into a rural roadside trash pit just outside the city limits. I never thought twice about it — I was young, still pretty innocent in some ways and far too trusting for my own good. I hadn't noticed at the time that it was mostly my hands that had left fingerprints all over the abandoned frame as I had lifted it into the back of my pickup truck.

In short, the bike had been stolen and all of the other valuable parts had been stripped and resold and a patsy, me, was found to get rid of the frame (which still had a registration number) on it.

It took awhile but eventually one evening I received an unexpected knock on the door from some not unkind police officers who asked if I could help provide them with a set of my fingerprints so that I could be 'ruled out' as a suspect for a number of burglaries that had been occurring in the surrounding apartment complexes. It was optional, there would be not be any problem if I declined. I had nothing to hide, I thought, so I let them take my prints. I certainly hadn't committed any of the break-ins but my prints hit a match for the stolen (now recovered) motorcycle frame about a week or so later.

I was now in a pickle. I got a ride in the back of a Police car to central booking downtown and spent a lengthy amount of time trying to explain the situation but I wasn't getting much sympathy. I seemed to be technically guilty of something. My 'friend' had "split for the coast" as the saying goes and there was no one left really other than me to hold the bag. Everyone agreed I had probably not stolen the bike in the first place, nor had I probably either stripped the parts or profited from the sale of them. The eventual charge was reduced to "accepting and transporting stolen property" and even the Assistant County DA on my case privately agreed that the charge was pretty weak.

Everyone wanted me to make a deal, no jail time just 'time served' plus probation but I was adamant I hadn't been guilty of anything except poor judgment and under no circumstances would I plead guilty to anything and thus have a future criminal record.

The time spent in county jail while the investigation dragged on cost me both of my good jobs and my prospects, especially with a criminal conviction, suddenly weren't particular rosey in the current weak job economy.

Fortunately, the Judge agreed with me and my defense attorney that my only real crime was poor judgment but he wasn't especially happy with my attitude. I was far from a contrite defendant and in his opinion I was blaming others a bit too much for my own mistakes and I seemed likely in his opinion to make similar future errors of judgment again. However he tossed me a bit of bone that would keep my police record clean.

"I am going into my chambers for a short recess to take a healthy dump and see if I can finish the rest of my crossword puzzle." The Judge stated to everyone, "This should take me no longer than twenty minutes ... plenty long enough for the Bailiff to escort our defendant down to the recruiting offices down on the first floor to take his pick of any of the fine career opportunities our Armed Forces might have to offer him."

Judgment was effectively made — join the service or be found guilty.

I quickly made my choice; or rather it was made for me. I hated the Navy (due to my Dad) and didn't want to go there at all but my first choice the Marines was closed today and the Army recruiting Sergeant was 'temporarily away but should be back in an hour or so'. Even the Air Force office already had a kid filling out paperwork with another guy and gal waiting in line to talk with the recruiter. That left nothing but a bored Navy PO (Petty Officer) sitting bored behind his desk waiting to make my day.

I had no other choice, off to the Navy it would be. I did request and have confirmed my choice for a technical school, to become a cook. I had already decided that this was what I would rather do for the next four years instead of doing more electrical work.

The charges against me were dismissed and five days later I was on a bus for Basic Training at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center on the shores of Lake Michigan.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Fa/Fa / Slow / 2nd POV /