Chapter 5

On the road again and Miss Swifty fairly glowed as she purred down the Mother Road as we cruised toward East St. Louis. The road was straight for a change with traffic very light, and it was a cloudless, sunny day. I'd put my foot down hard on the gas pedal some time back and was doing well over a hundred miles an hour when I flashed by a crossroad and some big, roadside billboards that got my hackles up.

Sure enough, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the flashing red gum ball machine of a black and white state squad as he blasted out from behind one of those signs in a cloud of dust and onto the road in hot pursuit.

BUSTED! SHIT!

I eased off the gas, downshifted, and rapidly slowed. The squad stayed right behind me. Yep, it was me he wanted, as if there was any doubt. The foolish thought fleetingly crossed my mind that I could probably outrun this guy, but I couldn't outrun his radio. As they say, "you can run, but you can't hide," at least not in the wide open flats of Illinois. This was not to mention that Miss Swifty didn't exactly blend into the background.

I pulled over onto the wide shoulder and stopped. Another thought flashed into my head and I said to myself, "Go for it, girl." Just as quickly, I pulled my tube top down below my boobs, placed both hands on the wheel, and waited.

The officer took his time approaching from behind as I watched in my rear view mirrors. He had to get close to read the temporary permit in the rear window. He continued forward until he got just behind me at the door.

"May I see your license and registration, please?"

I still had my back to him as I reached over to the right to get the required ducumentation from the glove box. Without leaning down quite low, he couldn't see much anyway with Miss Swifty sitting as low as she did. But then, I turned to face the door and he did lean down to take the proffered paperwork and to look over the interior. My naked boobs immediately registered with him. He dropped his ticket book into my lap and gulped. He also stared in shock.

After a pregnant pause, he muttered, "You were going rather quickly. What's your big hurry?"

"Oh, no big hurry, officer, I was just sort of daydreaming as I let the rushing wind cool me off. I guess, in my inattentiveness, my foot just got heavier and heavier."

He was young, probably inexperienced, and damned cute to boot I read his name, Ben Pistol, on his I.D. tag. Although he quickly regained his composure, he also continued to stare at my naked boobs as he talked.

"Do you have any idea just how quickly you were going?"

"No, not really."

"Well, young lady, I clocked you at 132.45 miles an hour."

"Really. That fast? But isn't the Illinois speed limit still 'reasonable and proper' for existing conditions?"

"Yes, yes it is."

He was still staring. I wondered how long he intended to delay commenting on my nakedness.

"So what's the beef then? There is bright sunshine, a good road, and little traffic at the moment.

"For one thing, that kind of speed is excessive and extremely dangerous under any conditions. You have very little reaction time in an emergency. and this is an unlimited access highway. Opportunities for disaster abound."

"Well, I'll have to concede that much, officer, and perhaps it would be better or safer for me to slow down, but I've not broken any traffic law to be pulled over, have I?"

"No, but you did give just cause to be pulled over for a warning. And I could also give you a ticket for public indecency."

"Oh, you noticed? When? Before you pulled me over? Because, sitting low in this closed top sports car, and at highway speeds such as I was running, it's very difficult for anyone to tell what I'm wearing or not wearing for clothes. Come now, Officer Ben, do you really want to write me a ticket, especially after the view you've been enjoying?"

"Well, not a full fledged ticket, but I will have to write you a warning ticket about the excessively dangerous speed."

He took his time writing that ticket as he still had trouble looking away from my chest. In fact, it was pretty obvious that he had drawn out this little discussion just so he could continue to ogle the merchandise. There's also the fact that he'd not once told me to cover up.

Officer Ben grew a bit more bold when he thrust my warning ticket unnecessarily far into the car between the wheel and my boobs. I took the ticket from him. As he withdrew his hand, he managed to cop a two finger feel as he drug them lightly across my left nipple.

Before stepping back to his squad car, Officer Ben said, "Please drive more carefully. You're much too pretty to go through a windshield. Be careful pulling back onto the roadway."

"Thank you, sir, I will.

I turned the key on the dash and fired up Miss Swifty once more. When the officer was clear, I turned on the left turn signal, checked for traffic, and pulled back onto the roadway to resume my journey. For the time being, I also left my top down.

"Unfair advantage," you scream. Well, you've likely heard the old adage, "All's fair in..." haven't you? This was not love and I had both the means and the will for the "war", so--what the hell, I used them. Besides, I really hadn't broken any law.

A few miles further down the road and nearing the metropolitan area, I decided it was time to put my top back in place. Ah, St. Louie, at two-hundred and ninety miles past Go, here I come. The last segment of Illinois Route 66 runs through East St. Louis before it crosses the Mississippi and I certainly didn't want to drive through that area half naked.

But therein lies another rub. Where to cross, the river that is. St. Louis is the largest metro area between Chicago and Los Angeles and the realignments of Route 66 through there have been many, creating a wicked maze of choices. My pre-trip plans and notes which accompanied me were extremely helpful here. I had restudied this part of the trip again the previous night.

Initially, Route 66 used the McKinley Bridge which carried traffic onto St. Louis' 9th Street. Some say this was not the highway planners' first choice, but was selected after difficulties over rights of way. Once those problems were resolved, a new stretch of road was built to link Route 66 with St. Louis' Municipal Free Bridge I think that's the one later renamed as the McArthur Bridge. Anyway, it was used from about 1929 until 1936.

The trouble was, both of those bridges led directly into central St. Louis. To create the needed by-pass, another realignment in 1936, brought Route 66 north to the the Chain of Rocks Bridge to take the road west and then south around thewest side of the city. The old central crossing continued to be used as Business 66. That Chain of Rocks by-pass bridge was my next destination.

The Chain of Rocks Bridge is one of old Route 66 and Missouri's most famous and proudest landmarks. Much of its notoriety is due to the twenty-two degree bend the bridge makes before getting its approximate one mile length all the way across the river. The bend was made necessary for geological and navigational reasons as well as the limitations of technology of the day.

Of course, growing up in the Peoria, Illinois area, I knew of another iron bridge with an equally sharp bend near the west bank. Tha was "The Grey Lady" or the "Iron Maiden" which was the old Franklin Street Bridge over the Illinois River with the Steak-n-Shake at the foot of the east end, right on the river bank. It just wasn't as high nor as long as the Chain of Rocks Bridge, but I was anxious to get pictures and to compare the two.

Five years after I crossed it, the Chain of Rocks Bridge would close and sit abandoned for thirty-one years. Route 66 would be rerouted further south until the I-270 by-pass and its new bridge would become the new northern by-pass. Chain of Rocks would reopen in 1999 to pedestrian and bicycle traffic only. But on this summer day in 1963, traffic was heavy in both directions on the narrow old bridge.

I pulled off on both ends for pictures. While driving across, I snapped some shots one handed as best I could while also keeping Swifty out of trouble as I crossed the bridge. I hope those moving ones won't turn out too blurry.

Because this city has been considered the "Gateway to the West" since nearly its beginnings in the 1760's, I intended to spend a day or two to take in the sights. So I elected, in advance, to turn south into the city rather than take the by-pass all the way. I had a particular motel in mind to use as my headquarters during my stay in St. Louis.

So, as I drove onto the Missouri side, and after taking my pictures from that end of the bridge, I turned south on Riverview then onto Broadway a few miles down. The next turn was onto 7th Street and all the way "downtown" to a strong right onto Gravois for about two miles until another sharp turn onto Chippewa.

At the intersection where Chippewa became Watson Road, I stopped at one more of the famous surviving food outlets of old Route 66. 6726 Watson Road is the location of Drewes Frozen Custard, in business at that location since 1931. The famous "concrete" made there has achieved world renown, literally.

It's a milkshake so thick that it and the spoon will not fall out if turned upside down as is often demonstrated by a server before handing over of the order. Of course, that's what I ordered. Mine was an old menu item called "all shook up." I walked back to Miss Swifty in the parking lot to enjoy my treat.

Finished with my "concrete," I pulled back onto Watson Road and drove to 7755 and the big, neon entrance sign that proclaimed, "Coral Court Motel." The address is actually about one mile west of the St. Louis city limits. Its infamy also sounded well beyond St. Louis and Route 66 or even the United States. The motel was many things to many people.

The original ten bungalows were built in 1941-1942 and its infamy was nearly instantaneous, at least locally. To roadside fans, Coral Court was a shrine. To many St. Louisans, the motel was a rite of passage. Attending a late night prom party and escaping with a Court towel or matchbook was a must for any local teenager.

For many who preferred to remain anonymous, the motel was the place "to get that groove on." Of course, there were always the chaste few who considered it "a monument to adultery." How did Coral Court get its reputation?

Three reasons caused the infamy: (1) The rooms could be rented for a rest period of four or eight hours (initially created as a courtesy to truck drivers), but not actually hourly rates as is often said. (2) Every room had its own garage, so cars were hidden from passersby. The clean and cozy bungalows, with attached private garages, provided whispered asides and off-colored jokes for decades. (3) The management at Coral Court was very discreet. The legend of the motel spread across the United States and beyond.

The motel design had a big part in the reputation of the place. Those first ten units of late art deco design were built in 1941, from glazed yellow block and opaque glass block that created a large glass window in each unit. To further make them distinctively different from any other motels, the court was made up of separate bungalows consisting of a room on each end connected by a two car garage between them, one garage bay for each unit.

The first five bungalows made up the first ten rooms. By the time I arrived in 1963, the number of bungalows had expanded to look like a small village. The complex would close in 1993 and be demolished in the name of urban renewal and progress in 1995.

Anyway, I drove between the stone entrance gates and found the office. I parked Miss Swifty and got out. You can find my bragging description of my nearly full optioned, Z06, split window, coupe in chapter one. I was quite proud of that car the ten years I owned it. My room was two streets over from the office, so I got back into Miss Swifty or just Swifty, as I called her, and drove over to my room.

I drove Swifty into the provided garage and unpacked what little baggaghe I had. Sports cars have very little room for more than two people. I was also in desperate need of a shower, so the next thing I did was to strip. When I was naked, I stood in front of the full length mirror a moment to admire my twenty-three year old body--someting I did quite often. Narcissistic? Yeah. So?

My "swinging" 38s were momentarily still, silver dollar sized aureole sprouting inch long, erect nipples and goose bumps. I say swinging because, in warm weather, I usually go braless in a halter or tube top and then they really do swing.

The rest of me was nothing to sneeze at either. A twenty-six inch waist and thirty-six inch hips went along with a tight, compact and nicely rounded ass. My flaming red hair, top and bottom, was set off with light green eyes and fair skin with only a tiny smattering of light freckles. I was still athletically fit as I exercised regularly, usually a long, early morning run. Though just recently, those runs were fewer and farther between.

I'd not had a good, or any other kind, of fucking for a while and for me, that is highly unusual. I normally get fucked at least two if not three times a week. And, when I say fucked, I mean at least once to twenty times during that day. So, I was horny as a member of a sheik's harem who'd not had a visit for over a year.

I love sex. I need sex. I want sex! So, I actively seek out a fuck partner. That's both a disadvantage and an advantage for a single girl. But, with the sixties sexual revolution, among others, underway, it was not difficult at all to get fucked nearly as often as I wanted.

While thinking about these naughty and erotic thoughts, I rubbed my 38s with one hand and played with my pussy with the other hand. The erotic electricity generated by these actions soon did grab my attention and I continued in earnest.

I did a three sixty in front of the mirror, craning my neck to keep watching my image while keeping my hands moving. My tingling pussy suddenly got very wet as pussy juice bubbled blithely and freely down my thighs. My middle finger was running up and down my slit, sliding up and under my expanding clit. That miniature penis responded by telescoping way out, swelling into quite a fat little sausage.

I reached into the shower and turned on the taps just before I shuddered into a powerful orgasm. When I got my breath back, I stepped into the shower and cleaned myself up. Finished, I stepped out and toweled myself dry before trying to decide what to wear out to supper.

Finally, I decided on a light, summer print dress with a fairly short hem line. No panties and no bra. I would have to watch any backlighting--my naked body would be perfectly silhouetted through the thin dress. My bare feet slid into my sandals and I put a gold chain and cross around my neck.

The little entrance area of the room had two doors. One led directly outside and the other led through into the garage. I went into the garage and back to the overhead door to open it. As it opened, a man was revealed, standing in front of the garage door to the other room. I judged him to be in his mid thirties.

He said, "Hi, I'm Justin Jackson. I'm a state sales manager for Red Foot Shoes and I'm staying in the room on this end of our bungalow. Are you headed out for something to eat? I hate eating alone."

"Yes. And I don't like to eat alone either."

"Well then, would you care for my company to an eating establishment on this beautiful evening?"

Would I care? Duh, he was the answer to my prayer. I just hoped he was capable of holding up to what was in store for him tonight when my pent-up sexual lust was unleashed.

"Just let me back my car out and hop in," I answered.

I'd both door windows open on Swifty, so I heard the long, low whistle Justin emitted as I backed a growling Miss Swifty out into full view. He opened the door and fell in.

"Some fucking set of wheels."

"Fucking is the operable word there, Justin."

It only took a few minutes for Justin to direct me to a dinner club with entertainment. As we entered, the Maitre d' greeted us with, "Good evening Mr. Jackson, your usual table?"

"Well," I thought, "This could get very interesting. I wonder how many other ladies he's escorted to dinner here!"

We were ushered to a small, secluded alcove that overlooked a nearby stage about two feet below us, close enough to be within spitting distance. We could see directly onto the stage, but only a couple of other tables of diners could see us. Of course, anyone on the stage could see us if they were so inclined. We were sitting facing each other with the stage off to our side.

We had a sumptuous, five course meal to the accompaniment of some very romantic music played by a string quartet. All during the meal, Justin looked into my eyes or at the rest of me and mentally undressed me.

While he looked, he also had a stocking foot constantly rubbing my inner thighs under my dress. As dessert was served, he moved the foot onto my pussy. Upon finding my pussy naked, a big smile of satisfaction appeared on his face.

Then, incongruously, because of it's content contrasting with the the surroundings, with dessert also came the floor show. The string quartet played very beautiful, classical, romantic songs as a gorgeous young couple came on stage and did a slow, romantic, strip dance!

Languidly, sensuously, erotically, and ever so slowly, they stripped each other as they danced. When the pair were both naked, the man stepped up and into the pussy of the female with his long lance, and it was long, very long. They embraced tightly as they continued to slow dance intamately coupled together.

The dance shortly became more of a swaying in place as they began to thrust into one another, again in slow motion. In a few moments, all motion stopped except for a final, mutual, and very deep thrust that produced a very obvious orgasm in both partners.

In me too! It also looked as if Justin might have "creamed his jeans" as well, I was diddling his cock hard enough with my bare foot.

The two dancers slowly uncoupled with sensuous grace and walked off the stage, arm in arm, each head on the other's shoulder to the thunderous applause of the dinners.

WoW! A live, nude, sex show in 1963, in that kind of setting? I don't know how they did it, or who paid whom off to permit it, but I guess anything is possible in the big city.

Shortly thereafter, the waiter brought the bill on a small silver tray. Justin laid his credit card on top and the waiter left only to return soon with the card. I didn't get a look at the total bill, but it had to be a whopper. Justin and I then rose and left the club.

The Valet brought the car around and I drove us back to the Coral Court and our rooms. As I pulled up to my side, I asked, "Would you like to come in for a night cap and... ?"

Justin's reply was, "I thought you were never going to ask!"

So, Justin got out, opened my garage door, and I drove Swifty in and parked. Justin opened the room door for me and followed me in. I turned around and we fell into each other's arms in a passionate, French kiss. Our mouths opened. Tongues entwined. Lips smashed together again in a hard grind. Hands roamed.

Justin's pants tented out big time. My pantyless pussy was drenching my thighs. I ripping off Justin's shirt and then his undershirt. The buckle on his belt gave way to my tugging and I jerked his pants down, shorts and all.

Out sprang a fairly short cock at full stand up attention. Short, but packing a startling girth. That fuck stick was already drooling cock cream, the precum long gone. Justin had my dress off in a whisk and we stood there, face to face, naked and panting in heat. He could see my pussy was sopping wet, so he just walked into me and kept walking until he had my back up against a wall.

It happened to be the curved glass block window part of the wall. With the room lights full on as they were, I'm sure we were perfectly silhouetted, however opaquely blurred, in full view of anyone who happened to look. No matter, up against the glass bricks I went and then, as I jumped my legs around his waist, I was quickly and expertly impaled by his fleshy lance.

Well, not quite. His pecker was so fat, it took a bit of effort before he got all the way in my channel to his balls. But then, like a raging bull, Justin slammed into me so hard and fast against that glass brick wall that I wore the imprint of the glass design for the next twenty-four hours.

After no more than six of these power strokes, we both shot off like Fourth of July Roman candles. In my case, I screamed like a banshee, high and shrill. In justin's case, he just kept moaning. I was squeezed against that glass wall with so much force, I couldn't get my breath back fast enough.

Justin finally dropped my legs to the floor and eased the pressure enough that I could at last gasp in some breaths, or I would have collapsed limp and blue to the floor. He ended up, as I planned, staying for the whole night. We fucked and sucked away most of it, finally collapsing in a naked spoon and got a few hours sleep before dawn.

We got up just after full light and had a nice fuck and suck in the shower before Justin picked up his tattered clothing and kissed me good-bye. He had to head out for Chi town and a meeting while I was headed west across all three-hundred-seventeen miles of Missouri to the Kansas/Oklahoma border corner where 66 dives into Oklahoma. But not before I got to see a bit more of St. Louis.

After Justin left, I scanned the phone book for an appropriate shop to purchase a cocktail dress. I wanted to go pub-crawling and dancing in the evening. Meanwhile, I would make the necessary clothing purchases and do some sight-seeing.

I ended up with a black velvet cocktail dress of the strapless and sleeveless variety. The black, plastic purse and black patent leather heels looked very nice with the dress. I already had the single strand, neck choker of pearls. My jewelry stash also contained a single strand pearl bracelet.

Miss Swifty then took me into the center of St. Louis to the site of Forest Park that was home to the 1904 World's Fair. Not much was left of the buildings from that time except for a large pavilion and remnants of the landscaping.

But the park does contain venues for golf and museum browsing. I spent a lot of time hitting the highlights of the Art Museum and the History Museum. I also cruised along the western edge of the park around Washington University and a ways east of the park around St. Louis University just so I could say I'd been there.

I found my way back to the downtown area to the Old Courthouse; that, I did want to see. It was the courthouse in which the 1856 Dredd Scott law suit began. Losing, the case was taken to the U.S. Supreme Court in 1857 where the decision rendered said, in effect, that slaves taken into free states by their master, or otherwise, remained slaves. It was one of the many sparks that burst into the conflagration four years later known as the American Civil War.

During my ramblings around in the court house, I noticed an Air Force Second Lieutenant, in uniform, following me around but trying very hard to look like he was not doing so. I was in my usual summer attire, so I exposed a lot of cleavage and ass cheek from time to time. His tongue was near wagging.

After I'd seen about all the courthouse I was interested in, I finally turned to the officer and asked, "Is there something you're interested in, Lieutenant?"

He stuttered around a bit in shocked surprise. Visibly pausing for a moment of thought, he firmly just let it all hang out when he answered with, "Yeah, I think you might say that."

"Well, Lieutenant, guessing your interest and hoped for intentions, I've led us back to an apparently little used hall and a room that might suit our purposes. A quickie might be in order, if you're so inclined."

The look on his face was priceless. A look that said he couldn't believe his luck. He truly did look to be in shock, if only for a couple of seconds. I read his I.D. tag.

"Well, Lieutenant Wheeler, shall we repair to the room?"

"the name's James. Do lead on, uh, ah... '

"Sorry, my name is Jen."

"Pleased to meet cha, Jen."

"We'll see about that in a minute, Lieutenant, er, James."

The bulge in his uniform pants was quite visible.

Once in the room, James pulled me into a tight clinch, his hands on my ass, pulling my pussy into his hard boner. I wiggled down to his belt, opened it and the fly, and dropped his pants and skivvies to the floor. His cock was neither large nor small, but something in-between. But it was definitely standing hard and tall.

My hands and mouth soon had some real moans issuing from his mouth. He was really horny and came close to climax in very short order. I didn't want that. I wanted a quick fuck, so I stopped my attention to his cock and stood up.

I walked backward to the dusty table in the corner, dropping my shorts to the floor and stepped out of them as I backed up. My naked pussy was glistening west from my pussy juices, drawing his attentive stare quite easily.

James' attention was so fixated on my pussy that I don't think he even noticed my crooked finger calling for him to follow me. He was following my pussy like a stallion following a mare in heat. Maybe that really wasn't that far from the truth.

When my bare ass bumped the end of the table, I sat. I spread my legs wide and leaned back on my elbows. James needed no further invitation. He dived head first into my blatantly exposed pussy with his mouth and tongue. I didn't need very much of that. I was wet enough before I ever hit the table.

"Enough, James. Fuck me. Fuck me now."

So he did. Neither of us lasted very long. He shot his wad first which pushed me over the edge to my climax. Mine was good, but I've had better. This was just too rushed.

"I hope you're satisfied, because that's all I've got time for now. I'm sorry if that seems like a female version of 'Wham bam, thank you Ma'am, ' but that's just the way it is this time. I told you it was going to be just a quickie. As soon as I catch my breath, I've got to get going."

As I dressed and cooled off, I asked James a question or two.

"Why do I see so many Air Force people around.

"Because Scott Air Force Base is just over twenty miles from here and as long as we show up for duty on time, our off duty time is our own--within reason." For the Air Force, it's much like any civilian workday, at least stateside and in peacetime.

"What goes on out there at the base?"

"It's the Headquarters home of MATS. That's the Military Air Transportation System to you civilians."

"What do you do there?"

"Not much. As an Air Force Academy graduate of one year and in my first posting, I'm little more than a paper pushing/carrying gofer for the time being."

We parted shortly thereafter with James leaving about five minutes or so ahead of me. I walked out into the very late afternoon sunshine. Miss Swifty got me back to the Coral Court in time for a beer and a sandwich. I had time to get ready for my pub crawling night.

My target for the evening was the fabled entertainment area known as Gaslight Square, a compact thriving entertainment district that was far more notorious than New Orleans Bourbon Street at the time. It occupied an area surrounding Olive and Boyle Streets In the Central West End. I left Swifty in the garage and called a cab. I wasn't at all sure I'd be able to drive home at night's end.

The cabbie seemed to look back at me in the rearview mirror more than at the road ahead. 'Course, my short skirt and spread legs might have been the cause. That time, I'd donned a miniscule strapless bra and tiny bikini panties, so the cabbie only got a partial view. My attire still had him nearly drooling.

"Eyes front, cabbie, before you rear-end someone."

He reluctantly returned his eyes to the street ahead. But I still caught him looking several times and hoping to see more. He got lucky when he stopped to let me out at the square. My thin strip of panty had pulled up into my crotch so far and tight, it was if I had worn none. The entire outer lips of my pussy were exposed.

The fare turned out an unlikely even amount. I paid through the passenger side front window and said, "You already got your tip--the eye candy you so enjoyed. See ya."

As I walked further into Gaslight Square, the original music was everywhere and nearly overwhelmed me. The streets were lined with packed clubs, restaurants, and after hours coffeehouses with discussions still fondly remembered by many.

The area was founded by the "beatniks" of the early 1950's. It was a time before orbiting satellites, the internet, cell phones, and mass electronic media. The founders were of the generation that began questioning traditional majority values in art, literature, and political self-expression.

Like New York's Greenwich Village, the central hub of The Beat Generation, Gaslight Square helped construct this important alternative American scene. Writers Jack Kerouac, Alan Ginsberg, and others traveling coast to coast would make that deliberate stop in St. Louis to witness Gaslight Square.