Sue’s 1962 red Impala convertible had a pillow in the backseat, which Eddie Perry found quite convenient to place under her lower back so she could comfortably recline in the back corner of the seat behind the driver’s position. She was maneuvered so that she could spread and bend her legs to enable him, naked, to take most of his weight on his knees, between her thighs, and the rest by pressing the heels of his hands into the sidewall behind her head. He worked his cock inside her after having knelt between her legs and worked her clit and cunt with his tongue and teeth. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist, her panties were on the back floor of the car, and her blouse was unbuttoned and open.

Eddie was fucking Sue.

He already had worshipped her breasts with his hands and lips, and she’d begged for the rest. Eddie had been the dreamboat of Mineral County High School, and Sue deemed herself lucky that he’d gotten around to her. She’d enticed him by showing up in the nowhere bungalow on Highway 95 Eddie lived in in Mina, Nevada, and offering him a ride to “wherever” in her dad’s Impala convertible. She did everything she could to signal that he could fuck her, dwelling on the various meanings of “ride.”

This is what high school graduates in Nevada between Las Vegas and Reno did after graduating and while waiting for a steady job or the army recruiter to show up—they drove out into the desert and fucked in the backseat of cars.

The other nineteen-year-old, Charlie Tecopa, a Piaute half caste from the Walker River Indian Reservation, was hanging over the back of the front passenger seat, watching Eddie and Sue getting settled into the fuck and biding his time until he could join them.

The three knew each other from the high school in the desert county in west-central Nevada, where they had graduated the previous spring. The three were listed among the beautiful people at the high school, but they’d been in entirely different social sets, with definite cultural barriers. Susan’s father, Ted Henderson, was the civilian manager of the Hawthorne Army Depot, with Hawthorne being the county seat and where the Mineral County High School was located. The depot was the major employer in the county, so Susan was pretty much the county princess. She, of course, had been homecoming queen at the school that year.

Eddie, living in the smudge of Mina, southwest of Hawthorne, with its 155 residents, straddling U.S. 95 between Las Vegas and Reno, came from white trash, although being a blond hunk and the star of the high school football team, such as it was, and, of course, homecoming king, had given him status. He had lived in an old Airstream trailer in Mina with his single-parent mother until near high school graduation when the trailer had burned and been gutted and his mother had taken a walk—without Eddie.

“You’re of age now, Eddie, so you’re on your own, just like I was as soon as I got out of high school,” she’d said as she was walking out.

Not long after that he moved in with the owner and waitress of the Railcar diner. Up until then sex had consisted of casual lays for Eddie. Now he was expected to plow a woman on a regular basis—a woman older than he was.

Charlie, whose father was a full Piaute and mother was a social worker from California, lived on the Walker River Indian Reservation to the northwest of Hawthorne. That put him, despite being a beautiful young man, in the lower depths of the social strata both at the high school and in the county. He was a silent fringe walker in whatever social circle of young people was lean and hungry at any given moment.

Being rebels and experimenters all, the three had come together to cross social lines after they’d been freed from peer influence in school. For the past five months they’d met whenever they could to go wild and fuck. The one beautiful thing these three could do in life was to tangle their bodies together and fuck.

Susan had picked Charlie up from his job at the army depot and driven him to Mina, where they’d gathered Eddie up at the Railcar Diner, and then had turned off U.S. 95, west, just north of Mina, and driven a dirt road into what was the rimmed crater of either a large meteorite hit or the remnants of a volcano from eons ago. There was a disagreement in the region which was what. Nobody much came to see it, so it didn’t really matter what it was. Features like it were so common in this area that this one hadn’t attracted any scientific interest. The Impala fit between a rock outcropping and a small pond in desert-like surroundings, out of sight of anyone not looking for concealment for some purpose of their own.

They’d done this before. Even in this spot. Eddie was handsome, blond, tanned, muscular, and hung. Susan, auburn-haired, “perky,” busty, and with full hips, had clutched his buttocks with her hands, arched her back, and was rocking against him as he pumped her. She liked being filled and stretched by a man’s cock. She’d done it for the school’s football coach and vice principal—there wasn’t much else to do out here in nowhere—so age didn’t matter much, although she like it best with young guys.

They were young and fearless, living in the sticks, and they’d started this the night of the homecoming dance, as all of the students had expected. There were more fatherless children here—and had been forever—then there were two-parent families. Single parents here were barely thirty-five when they were attending their own children’s high school graduations. Thus, they hadn’t even considered protection. When they had set up a good rhythm, Dark, slim, wiry Charlie came over the seat into the back, saddled up behind Eddie, mounted his ass, penetrated him, and fucked Eddie while Eddie fucked Susan.

There really wasn’t much else to do for a thrill in Mineral County, Nevada, if you were young, beautiful, adventuresome, and horny. And if you wanted to flip off the world.

Mina, Nevada, couldn’t even claim to be a town. Technically, it was a “census-designated” spot on U.S. 95 between Las Vegas to the south and Reno, via Carson City, to the north. It was laid out as a town, with numbered streets from 1st Street on the north down to 13th at the south end, crossing east-to-west across the portion of U.S. 95 named Frontier Street. This was an overly ambitious undertaking, though, as all of the blocks from 1st Street down to 5th Street were empty lots. The Railcar Diner, one of two restaurants in the settlement, sat on the western corner of Frontier and 5th.

It was called the Railcar Diner because that was what it was built to resemble, an abandoned railcar, when it was built in the late forties. More recently it looked more abandoned than a railcar. It was larger than a railcar, a bit longer and twice as wide, to accommodate a long lunch counter and booths around the front and side walls. The building continued, narrower, off the back, with, first a kitchen area, and then a living-dining room, two bedrooms, and a bath, which was where the owner of the diner, Maggie Bell, a tarty, top-heavy blonde in her late forties, lived, and where Eddie dutifully fucked Maggie at least twice a week to cover his room and board.

The Railcar Diner was one of the fanciful building designs that were scattered along lonely stretches of U.S. highways on the long, dull journeys through the badlands to the West Coast in the first half of the twentieth century. The landscapes through Nevada, Utah, and Arizona were actually spectacular—for about fifteen minutes, and then they began to dull the senses. Nearly all of the residents of Mina had been there well over fifteen minutes.

The people living along the routes west and wanting travelers to stop and buy what they were selling constructed fanciful buildings to entice them: a wigwam here an “old woman’s shoe” there. Thus, Mina had its railcar for a diner and, further up the road toward Hawthorne, there was a lighthouse just off the road in the desert that served as a motel, restaurant, and men’s club. That would be men on men, not a straight guy’s brothel.

Maggie ran the diner restaurant adequately with a minimum crew. You didn’t serve many diners in a Nowhere not-even-a-town like Mina at a basic-offer, All-American food diner like the Railcar Diner when there was a better-known burger restaurant, S’Sorcorro’s, on the south side of the settlement. Only the diner served breakfast, though, so a profitable day was established before noon. There were two shifts, the breakfast-through-lunch shift, running from 6:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m., with Maggie serving as hostess and overflow waitress; Amy Cagley, a thin waif of a young woman not long out of high school as waitress; and Maggie’s older sister, Mary, in the kitchen. Maggie usually didn’t drag in until a bit after 7:00, but she stayed on to clean the place and do the paperwork after 2:00. The restaurant opened up for supper again from 5:30 to 8:00, p.m., with Eddie Perry taking the orders and old Stan Fowler, the former owner of the diner, in the kitchen. If someone was sick, the others usually somehow managed to adjust, and there were former diner workers still in town who were always interested in making an extra buck. If push came to shove, they just switched the “Open” sign on the front glass door to “Close” and did what they had to do.

Amy Cagley lived with her widowed mother-in-law, who took in boarders, over at the corner of 8th and A Streets, within walking distance of the diner, not that everything in Mina wasn’t in walking distance of everywhere else. She had been a child bride, pregnant, of Jerry Cagley, four years her senior, who was in the army in Afghanistan and had been gone most of the time. She’d lost the baby before having a chance to give it birth and after Jerry had left for army training. She brought in some extra money by laying under various men in town. She had her favorites, though. She didn’t charge Eddie Perry, for instance.

Maggie Bell’s cook sister, Mary, lived in a two-room shack a few feet off to the side of the living quarters off the back of the Railcar Diner. She got along well enough with her sister, who had taken her in from prison, where she’d been for some years after slicing up her husband, who had deserved it. The sister was employed at the diner more because Mary was a great cook than that she was Maggie’s sister and it was hard coming out of prison and finding a job, but they worked together, if mostly silently, well. Everyone else in Mina was more silent with Mary than her sister was, but they came to the diner for Mary’s cooking during the day and Stan’s at night, not because of the railcar ambiance but because either one of them delivered a better meal than anyone else in town, including the burger chef at the better-known S’Socorro’s down the street.

Eddie had only worked at the diner for six months, but he already was a regular member of the family, punctuated by now laying his head on Maggie Bell’s pillow in the living quarters behind the diner. He hadn’t gone from working in the diner to working in Maggie’s bed; the progression had been the other way around. When his mother’s Airstream had been gutted by fire and she left Mina without him during his final year in high school, the Andersons, who owned a chicken farm over on Doolittle Street, had taken him in. As part of Eddie’s duties there, he had delivered chickens and eggs to the diner. Not long before Eddie graduated high school and he turned nineteen, Maggie paid him to lay her between shifts when the diner was closed for the day, and when her dinner shift waitress ran off with a construction worker from Hawthorne, she hired Eddie to replace her.

“You can just move into my bed as well as part of your compensation,” she’d said. Maggie still thought of herself as a catch. At the same time, she said she might as well give a man a chance in the job. All the women she’d hired had run off with some out-of-town bastard sooner rather than later.

Maggie was not the jealous type. She knew that Eddie, the best-looking and performing young hunk for miles around Mina, serviced other women, so when she drew up to the front windows of the Railcar Diner on the afternoon of the day Eddie, Susan Henderson, and Charlie Tecopa had been sporting in Susan’s red Impala convertible in the hills west of Mina and cursed at the arrival of the Impala in the parking lot in front of the diner, she was expressing more concern for her staffing than for her bed warming.

“What set that off?” Bud Cassidy looked up from stirring his coffee in his customary booth by the window and asked. Bud was a fixture at the diner. He owned the car repair garage in Mina, but his son, Butch, had that in hand considering the low volume of the business, and Bud, a grizzled, but once quite handsome fifty-five-year-old, had his territory staked out so well at the Railcar that he was sitting in his booth, drinking his coffee from his cup, even though the diner had closed for the breakfast and lunch period an hour earlier and wouldn’t open again for dinner for another two and a half hours.

“It’s that high-falutin’ girl from Hawthorne again,” Maggie spat out. “She’s gonna lead Eddie a merry chase.” Maggie didn’t even register that Charlie Tecopa was with him. He was from the Indian reservation. Maggie refused to call it the Native American reservation or acknowledge his existence unless he was ordering from the menu.

“She’s his age, Maggie. And he’s no priest. You gotta expect him to be plowing the more tender fields.”

“There’s nothing tender about that girl. But it’s her bein’ from Hawthorne that riles me. I lost the last two waitresses to bastards from Hawthorne. I didn’t think I’d have that trouble with Eddie.”

“Oh, I see. It has nothing to do with him not being back there in bed with you now.”

“Not at all.” She was about to say something else, but Eddie had waved Susan and Charlie off and was coming toward the door, and Maggie suddenly decided that the lunch counter needed another wipe off. When Eddie entered, Maggie was all aflutter and primping behind the lunch counter, forgetting all about Eddie’s arrival in Susan’s dad’s red convertible, not to mention their kiss in parting and Eddie’s patting of Susan on the butt. Maggie was focusing only on Eddie being back and there being a good two hours of alone time before the diner had to open again.

Eddie and Bud passed each other, with a tip of their cowboy hats, a slight smile, and an exchanged “Eddie” and “Bud.” When Bud was gone, it was just the two of them, Maggie and Eddie, standing there, looking at each other, with Maggie’s eyes all aglitter and her running her hands down her broad hips to smooth her skirt down.

“I’m glad you’re back early, baby,” Maggie said. “It gives us some time.”

“Yes, I guess it does,” Eddie said, with a resigned sigh. He needed this job and he needed this place to bed down—at least until he could get his shit together to figure out what he wanted to do in life. The one thing Eddie knew was that he didn’t want to do it here in Nowhere Mina, or in this Nowhere Railway Diner. It wasn’t Maggie’s fault he was at loose ends. She was a good sort and had taken him in. And she was good in the sack—if the light was dim. She wasn’t all the way past it quite yet and she had big tits and full hips—and experience. Girls like Susan and Amy were candy for the eyes, but they were too thin. Maggie was a big handful of woman. Maggie had puffy labia, and Eddie like a handful of cunt when he was working a woman.

“I thought we might go back to the bedroom for a while before opening up again,” Maggie said.

“Sure, why not?” Eddie said, proceeding on ahead of the blonde handful, to the bedroom, where the first thing he did was to close the blinds on the two windows to dim the light in the room.

She was holding his head, trying to keep him kneeling between her thighs and pleasuring her with his tongue, but Eddie wasn’t having any of that as much as he liked playing with her puffy wings. He’d give her a bit of clit work, but not as much as she wanted and needed. After having fucked Susan, he wasn’t all that much in the mood for Maggie. That was where BJ had always been so much better. He’d worked her until she’d exploded once and then, if he’d gone soft too soon, he’d be back between her legs making sure she was having a good time. Not Eddie, though, at least not with her. Amy had said he was really good to her, but Maggie didn’t get all she wanted from him at the beginning.

But then when he was hard and thick inside her and she could run her hands over his young, hard, beautiful body while he pumped her...

Not bad for a woman her age—not bad having a young, beautiful man like this between her legs and inside her, big and hard.

She gave him good head before he turned her on her back and went down on his knees. Why couldn’t he do the same for her? Why couldn’t he do her as good as BJ had done for her.

But then Eddie was rising and crouching over her, positioning his cockhead and entering her as she spasmed and jerked and clutched at his butt cheeks with her claws to pull him inside her and hold him close. His face nuzzled her breasts, burying itself in the cleft. He moved inside her and his face turned and he took her right nipple in his teeth. In the dimness of the room, all she could see when she looked down was curly blond hair on his head. But she felt his hard muscles with her roaming hands and the hard, filling steelness of him inside her and his hot breath and rough tongue on her nipples, first one and then the other.

This was why it was him and not BJ. He was young, and hard, and virile, and he was guaranteed to stay hard inside her, moving, as long as she needed. BJ was great, but sometimes... “Oh, fuck. Oh, shit, baby!”

His hands went to her wide hips, the fingers pressing into the meat of her buttocks, squeezing and separating. He was in deep. He pulled almost all the way out and then thrust in; out and in. She gasped and jerked to the thrusts. And then, as he began to pump hard and fast, she cried out, “Oh, my god! Fuck me, baby!”