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Author’s note: This vacuous stroker is total fiction except real places. All sexual actors are over 18 and avoid condoms. Tags: clusterfuck, teasing, bisexual, Mexican cruise, steam engine, Karmann Ghia, Palm Springs. If you object to any such, stop reading. Facts may be incorrect. Views expressed may not be the author’s. Enjoy!


Stanley Steamer 01 of 03: Jeri & friends

Stanley rescues and judges the ladies





I was pretty anxious. Would he answer? Would he help? I nervously flipped open my little Nokia cell phone, keyed the international code and his home number, and hoped. Cheap Mexican bus station lights glared on us.

The phone connected. He answered.

“Funny farm. Quack, quack.”

That was cousin Stan’s version of ‘hello’.

“Hey big cousin, it’s little Jeri, remember me?”

“I sure do, hot stuff! It’s been awhile. What’s up? Are you still an unholy menace that needs close supervision?”

“Err uhh well, two of my girlfriends and me, we have a problem. It’s kind of silly but we sure could use help. We’re about halfway up Baja California on a Mexican bus. It takes a whole day from Cabo San Lucas to Mexicali and we’re about out of money and options. Is it maybe, maybe possible, pretty please, for you to maybe come pick us up at the border? And give us a lift to my brother’s place in Palm Springs? We can lay-over and then get back home from there.”

“So you’re what, about twelve hours away? You expect to arrive about nine in the morning?”

“Yeah Stan, that’s right. We can wait if you-“

“Hey, no problem, absolutely no problem, especially not for YOU, cuz. I usually get up early anyway. Damn roadrunners wake me at dawn. Okay, so Yucca Valley at six or so; rescue you and your friends at nine; got it. Do you girls have much luggage? You always used to pack a lot, I remember.”

“No, we were smart; we each only took one big sports duffel bag apiece on the ship. We didn’t want to be loaded down.”

“The ship? You were on a ship?”

“Look, these international minutes are adding up. Can I tell you about it while we’re rolling tomorrow?”

“Sure, no problem. Three of you, three duffels, and you probably have big purses too, right? I should be able to fit you all in.”

“Great, great! Thank you, thank you! We’ll see you at nine, assuming the border patrol lets us through. Good thing we have passports.”

Mariana chirped, “Ask him to bring snacks.”

“We’ll find something to eat in Calexico,” I told her. I returned to the phone.

“Umm, oh the dearest and bestest cousin a poor girl ever had, can you maybe spot us some fast food or something near the border? We have REALLY run out of cash.”

“Again, no problem. And let’s stop burning your phone minutes. I’ll be there and I’ll have my cell on. Call if you don’t see me at the border gates.”

“Will he be hard to see?” Lorna asked.

“Oh, we’ll know each other. See you at the border at nine, then?”

“I’ll be there, rain or shine, and it won’t rain.”

“Oh, you fabulous cousin, you are a LIFE saver! We will be indebted for like forever! See you then! Smooch smooch!”

I clicked off.

“You trust him?” Lorna asked. She looked concerned.

“Abso-fucking-lutely, forever and ever. We were always good friends. He’s only a year older – 360 days, really. We danced at parties, held hands, stuff like that. I used to read his fortune with Tarot cards. His future was always good. Better than mine.”

I will admit we were kissing cousins. But that was way back when. We were just kids and did not know anything about life. I’m sorry our paths separated.

“Is he cute?” Mariana asked. She licked her foxy lips.

“Mmmmm, Stan always looked pretty good to me. I do not remember girls turning him down much. And he looks a little like me – so yeah, sure, he looks great! He IS great! We’re from the good side of the gene-pool!”

They snickered. The traitors!


Damn, we were glad to be off that cruddy second-class bus! Or maybe third-class. Does Mexico have fourth-class buses? Cages with live animals – piglets, chickens, armadillos, I do not know what – right up on the roof! And the way people stared at us! You would think these folks had never seen tourist girls before. Sure, we should not have been there with the peasants, but still…

We finally dragged our sports bags through customs. Good thing they’re on wheels. The bags, I mean, not the customs guys. They’re on mean downers or something. It was that 9/11 stuff last year – they’re really tight-asses now, not like when we went to Tijuana before. Too bad they stopped the donkey shows. Anyway, they gave Mariana a hard time but she had her passport. Good thing we had passports. Good thing none of us were Arabs or Afghans.

The bus station was like a mile or more from the border and we had to roll our bags on cruddy sidewalks and streets the whole way in this hot sun. We had no money for a taxi. Vendors escort gaziantep ucuz bayan tried to sell us cruddy stuff the whole cruddy way. Then there were customs guys digging through everything, pulling out our fancy underwear and bikinis. At least they did not smirk.

And at least we are back on safe territory in the US of fucking A. The shit back at the Baja North-South state border, with army troops, the scary barricaded checkpoint, and those machine-gun nests aimed at the highway – that does not happen in the states. Not so obviously, anyway. It is more subtle at home. Mexicans know they live in a police state. Americans have not yet noticed.

But enough politics. I was on the lookout for my savior cousin.

And there he was! That tall, craggy, only slightly shaggy brown-haired guy in grey cargo shorts and a NASA Mars t-shirt. I waved. He waved.

Then we were there with him. He gave me a big hug. My nipples crinkled. Hey, stop that!

“And here you are, girls. Welcome back to USA, where everything costs more and some might be worth it. Put your passports away. You’ve already paid your border dues, I see. Anybody ready for a ride?”

“Don’t I get a hug too?” Mariana demanded.

“And me,” said Lorna. “No blonde discrimination!”

“No discrimination,” Stan agreed. Mariana swarmed him first.

“I get a nice BIG hug, don’t I, Stanley, sir?” Damn, she was sucking up!

Mariana surrounded my studly cousin with her deadly Latina charms and arms. She squeezed his butt with one hand so he responded with a tidy two-handed buttock massage on her Lycra shorts. I was jealous.

Lorna pried her away, “Hey, leave some for me!” She draped her long arms around his neck and force-pressed her big blonde Scandinavian boobs against him. He rubbed both buns through her denim cutoffs. I was more jealous.

I peeled her off. “*I* am the cousin, girl. *I* deserve the best hug.”

I held him close, pushed my boobs out, and kissed him quick, then longer.

“Now do my butt too!” I insisted.

He did, thoroughly. Then he crouched, lifted my miniskirt to kiss my panty-covered ass, and fondled my bare thighs.

“Happy now?” he asked. I dripped. I wished I had gone commando. Wait, stop that!

No passers-by seemed to notice. They had probably seen live fuckings and more around here. We did not block foot traffic too much.

“C’mon, let’s get going. I can help some.”

Stan tossed Mari and Lorna’s duffels over each strong shoulder.

“Sorry I can’t balance yours on my head, cuz. You got the best hug and I kissed your bubbly butt. So you can drag yours. It’s not far to my car.”

My butt is bubbly? Oh shit, I hope not! Damn that cruise-ship food!

We crossed a secure parking lot and stopped in front of… a dream.

“This is beautiful! I totally expected your crappy old Toyota pickup.”

I was like TOTALLY impressed. A classic Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, a glowing pearl-grey convertible with white leather upholstery and a racing wing rising on the back, the ragtop up and protecting. The front seat was a plush-padded straight-across bench with lots of leg room – no stick shift or any other levers intruded. Almost as good as a little parlor.

Stan keyed open the driver’s door, punched a button that retracted the grey convertible roof, and popped the front trunk cover.

“Say hello the Heidi. She has room up front here for two of your bags. The last will have to go in back. Not much legroom there so I suggest you squeeze it on the floor behind the back seat and sit crossways, legs up. There’s a back cushion to keep you comfy. Any takers?”

“He’s *MY* cousin so *I* get to sit next to him.”

“My bag is thinner and longer than yours,” Lorna said. “I’ll take the back seat for now.”

“You’re so noble,” Mariana joked. “Must be that famous white liberal guilt.”

“Ha. I’ll be right behind Stan. I can run my fingers through his hair and tickle his ears while he drives.”

“Right,” said Stan. “Fat bags in front, skinny bag in back.”

“I’m not fat!” chorused with “I’m not skinny!”

“Your duffels, ladies,” Stan chuckled. “Let’s load up and hit the road.”

We girls and our luggage were stashed. Flesh was flashed. Stan started the Karmann Ghia. It rolled silently to a line of vehicles exiting the lot’s toll gate.

“Hey, kewl!” said Lorna from the back seat. “Is this electric? I didn’t know they ever made electric Volkswagens.”

“Not electric,” Stan said. “Steam. Heidi has a steam engine.”

“Steam engine,” Mariana asked nervously. “Don’t those blow up?”

“Nope, not now. Steam boilers can pop but my beautiful babe Heidi has flash-heat tubes firmly embedded in ceramics. Explosions are impossible; safety seals open first. And she runs cool; no waste heat.”

“Where did you find this steam engine?” Lorna asked.

“I know a guy in Stuttgart. No, really. A Vee-Dub lab developed their ZEE, Zero Emission Engine. ZEE escort gaziantep ukraynalı bayan burns almost any fuel, clean and quiet. And suitable fuels might not have highway taxes applied, heh heh.”

Stan paid his toll and drove onto a busy American chain-store business street.

“Now it’s your turn. What the fuck happened?”

I said, “Wait. Can we get an American meal first? What they had on the bus route, I don’t know…”

“How about a Burger Thing, cuz? Will Woppers nourish you ladies?”

“YES!” we yelled.

We soon sat around a fast-food table inhaling unhealthy but sterilized meat and sodas. Our sad story emerged between bites. I told most of it. Most was the truth, too.

“So I had left my car at home and caught the Inland Empire shuttle from my San Bernardino place out to Mari and Lorna’s rez condo in Cabazon, before the freeway dinosaurs, on the Cahuilla Indian reservation. Mari is a croupier in the casino and Lorna is an editor in the tribe’s publications office.”

I must admit she did not earn that job with only her boobs. Smart girl!

“Lorna drove us to Long Beach to catch a Countess Cruise ship down Mexico’s Pacific coast. We hit Puerto Vallarta, did a couple of shore excursions, stopped in Mazatlan both ways, and landed in Cabo San Lucas, out on the tip of the Baja peninsula.”

Those Mexican coast towns were obvious tourist traps. Cruise ships are their major industry. There were lots of taxis and touts and vendors from the ship’s ramp onward, and cutesy town centers with cutesy shops with the same stamped-out crud for sale at stateside prices, the Gringo tax applied.

And plenty of hookers for those in need. But those gals were kept just outside the family-friendly downtowns. Local merchants do not want to scare tourist kids with too many half-naked sex-workers out in the open. Although they’re cleaner than TV at home.

I heard some female passengers, old hands on cruise ships, talk about male brothels there. What, they could not attract the studly Latin Lover leeches hanging around town? They had to pay for it? Sad.

I did not speak of any of that. Stan knew the reality already.

“The cruise was just okay. They had hot gaming tables, silly stage shows, and a topless swim pool on the top deck where we could show off, but nowhere for bottomless. And a few cute guys who didn’t seem to have wives along, not to mention the ship’s officers, though most all those guys were losers, or at least the crew had orders not to fuck the passengers. And there was paid-for food everywhere. Too much food. Keeping our figures sleek was a challenge.”

I did not mention the less-than-satisfying sessions with passengers, those guys-without-wives. I could not get more than two at once and they were greedy and rushed. Every guy who sails is a pig or an idiot. Or both.

Well, there was one guy I might have gone for. But his cock bent one way and my pussy pointed the other direction, and we never could find a good position or even a compromise, except oral. Don’t you hate when that happens?

No need burdening Stan with that stuff. I continued.

“The Countess Cruise people said we had an overnight stop in Cabo, so we decided to get a room in town for the night because clubs and dancing, duh. We took our travel bags along so we could dress well. But when we got up yesterday morning, the ship had sailed already! So sorry, señoritas, no more boats for a few days. Perhaps you could fly north?”

Fly north, sure. Just change our arms to wings and we gorgeous naked angels will fly, fly away, flashing you as we go, but maybe peeing on your head. So airliners still dump urine in flight?

“But we had paid-up gaming accounts on the boat. That’s where our money was. They wouldn’t refund it to us, not till we got back to Long Beach, and then they would only move it into our bank accounts, not cash in hand. After we had paid for the hotel and food and clubs in Cabo we didn’t have enough left for plane tickets and they don’t take Discover credit cards there. We had just enough cash for the bus. So we got on and rode awhile, and that’s when I called for help, dear cousin.”

I stroked his strong, hairy arm. “So here we are.”

Mari and Lorna interrupted me a lot and told some lies. They flashed cleavage at Stan too. I think he noticed. But I was still eating. I washed down the last bite, flashed Stan my own flesh, and finished my tale.

“So then the man at the bus station in Cabo had the nerve to tell us to dress decently or he wouldn’t sell us tickets! Said we had to cover our chests and arms and legs. So we had to ride and sleep on that nasty bus for a whole damn day in our full-coverage grubbies. First thing we did at the border was hit a restroom and change into comfy stuff.”

‘Comfy’ meant their short-shorts and my mini-miniskirt, and thin t-shirts over our cute little bikini tops. Well, the tees were sort of low-cut. We had much to show off. I noticed escort gaziantep üniversiteli bayan that mine were not the only nipples poking points in shirts. Are the girls horny too?

“Are you ladies in a hurry for Palm Springs? We can talk easier with the top down if we don’t take freeways, caught between semi trucks.”

My thigh bumped Stan’s bare knee. I rubbed his leg flesh. “No rush.”

Mari leaned over me and rubbed his bare leg too. “No hurry here, guy.”

Lorna tickled his ears and tousled the hair on his head. She sang, “If you’ve got the money, honey, I’ve got the time!” She nicely rubbed his neck. I was jealous of both of the bitches.

Past the border mess and Calexico congestion, Stan took us in eerie motoring silence along back byways through rich hot industrial-size farmlands, big agri-biz all around us, lots of fully-clothed Mexicans sweating in the endless fields, yada yada. But the wind of motion, our voices, and passing traffic were all we heard. We chatted and laughed about this and that. The air was warm but the breeze made us glad we wore our tees.

Somewhere past Brawley, Mari said, “It’s break time now. And switcheroo time too, time for musical chairs, girls. Jeri gets to sprawl in back now. She can stretch what legs she has. I get to sit next to Stan and play with his knees.”

Stan pulled over. We traded places. I pinched Stan’s ears. Mari kissed one of his ears in retaliation. Lorna leaned over Mari to rub Stan’s leg, too. “Nice muscles,” she said. She rubbed again. Was that a fat hard-on in his shorts? Must I look?

Further easy driving and chatting ensued. Awhile further on, Stan asked, “Would you ladies maybe like some excitement? There’s a stretch on the back road to Nice where I can show-off lovely Heidi’s hidden talents.”

Nobody objected. Stan turned onto a paved desert roadway. He drove a few miles and then stopped.

“We’ll be going sort of fast. I’ll put the top up.” He punched the button. I tapped the light taut fabric. Not loose – it felt solid.

I noticed the car’s controls were a little weird. The gauges were different and I did not recognize the buttons I could see. “How fast?” I asked.

“Heidi can dance. Watch the speed readout,” he said.

Bright digit flickered. 55. 65. 75, 85, 95. Ninety-five!

The car rode smooth and silent. It was fucking eerie!

“That’s first gear,” Stan said. “Now let’s try second.” He hit another button.

More numbers: 105, 115, 125, 135. One hundred and thirty fucking five miles per fucking hour! In a Volkswagen! And that was not the end! They flickered slowly. 136, 137, 138, 139. Holy shit! 139 stayed up for an eternity of seconds, then quickly dropped back down. 130, 115, 100, 85, 75, 65.

I almost wet my panties. I wondered if the girls had. I did not smell any.

The car still rode like a ghost. I hardly felt bumps. Good suspension, maybe.

“Were we really going almost 140 in this thing?” Lorna whispered.

“If we were at Bonneville or the Black Rock Desert, we’d have just set a new land speed record for steam cars. The 1906 Stanley Rocket’s record has lasted almost a century. We beat it by a fair amount.”

“But, a Volkswagen, a fucking Karmann Ghia…” I croaked. I felt less sexy now.

“Don’t judge Heidi by her pretty smile. Like I said, I know a guy in Stuttgart. Heidi looks soft and sweet but her backbone is a Porsche racing chassis, rated for 200 M.P.H. with a bigger engine. Heidi rocks.”

“How come it didn’t feel like that fast? Why didn’t we bounce all over?”

“Heidi has active stabilization suspension for comfort and safety, and the wing holds her down. That, and some subtle aeronautical reshaping of her body. Heidi’s pretty skin is wind-tunnel-tuned. Her ragtop has thin Kevlar layers sandwiching AGN foam insulation, good for noise and bouncing birds. Yes, you can thank that guy in Stuttgart.”

I glanced in the driver’s side mirror and saw a flashing red light some distance behind us.

“Uhh Stan, do you get many speeding tickets?” I asked.

He checked the rear-view mirror.

“Nope, but Smokey is on our tail, for sure. Okay ladies, here’s the plan. I’ll slow around the next bend and put the top down. Then you all take your t-shirts off and fill those bikini tops nicely. When Deputy Dawg stops us, you’ll get out, stretch, slink around, show lots of boobage. I’ll handle the cop.”

That is what we did. The sheriff’s loudspeaker horn blared, “Stay in your vehicle!” but we girls got out and stretched anyway.

No, we did not strut, not quite. I think he saw we were not carrying weapons. He walked up to Stan, still behind the steering wheel, and tightly gripped his citation book.

“I don’t fucking believe this.” His pot-belly was not TOO big and ugly.

“One hundred forty miles per hour in a Vee-Dub convertible? With the top down? With those babes in it? My radar must be fucked.”

He surveyed the car, us girls and our skin display, and poker-faced Stan.

“Nobody will fucking believe this.” I bent to show him cleavage. So did Lorna. Mari just wiggled her tight Spandex butt. He tried not to notice.

“Aw shit. I can’t write this ticket. Damn, I can’t even tag you for topping that thing out at 77 in a 60 zone. Nobody does the limit here. And a speeding Vee-Dub not going down a steep grade? Aw shit. They’ll laugh me off the force.”

He shoved the ticket book back in his belt. He grimaced.

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