The Sidecar Tales 02 - Jane

Sitting on the park bench in Saint Louis, I was about to eat my fast-food lunch, when I looked?really looked?over at my chance-met seat-mate.
At first glance, she looked like any of the homeless folks that grace all of our cities, and I'd been braced for the usual come-on tale of woe, followed by a plea for some 'spare change.' But, as I started to open my box of burger, fries and a shake, the blanket-clad figure looked at me, and I saw a couple of tears form, and drip down her distinctly Asian face.
Yeah, 'her,' and my damsel-in-distress gene kicked in, damnit. Sighing, I passed the box of cheeseburger, fries and vanilla shake over to her, saying, "Go ahead. Have it. No conditions, no strings."
Her hand crept out of the covering blanket, and pulled the box toward her. She was having little tremors, and nearly spilled the fries, and almost lost the shake to the grass at her feet. "Another strung-out druggie," I thought, and reached out to steady her food and the paper cup. She was struggling to get the paper sheath off the straw, and not doing very well at it, so I took the container, pulled off the thin paper, and held it for her, as she sucked at the ice-cold contents.
The burger and fries disappeared in under three minutes, and the shake in under four. I guessed beginning starvation, and I had this helpless feeling you get when you rescue a kitten, only to find that you're obligated to raise a cat for the next fourteen years. Ah, damn-it-all-to-Hell!
Then she looked at me, and clearly said, "Shit. Piss. Fuck. Damn." Her eyes got wide, and she tried again, obviously struggling to say something else, but what emerged from her mouth was, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Shit! Ahhh, damn. Crap. Fuck..." Then she started to cry again, the tears dribbling down her face.
Trying to keep my composure, I said, "I'm Tom Cattus. What's your name?"
She tried again, but said, "Ahhh. Ohhhh, Fuck. Fuck! Ahhh, shit. Fuck!" Then she gestured at herself, and clearly said, "Fuck. Fuck. CUNT!"
Then she started to cry again, this time with big, deep racking sobs, as she whispered to herself, "Ahhh, fuck. Shit. Cunt. Cunt! Fuck, funk, fuck, fuck ..."
She surged up, holding the blanket around herself, took two steps away, and crumpled to the ground. A quick check revealed several things: a steady pulse (and thus, just a faint); a very dirty and smelly body (indicating no bath or shower recently); ribs showing through a thin blouse, under the dirty blanket (indicating ongoing starvation); no purse or ID; and a crumpled letter, in a back pocket.
The letter was just one page from a medical report, dated a couple of months ago, and said something about a stroke, something called 'aphasia,' and a dispassionate cut-off of services, due to continued absence of insurance payments.
What else could I do? I couldn't just leave her?well, yes I could ... but, no, I couldn't?so that left me with just one option, until I could figure how to talk to her. I carried her lightweight and limp body, plus blanket, over to my scooter damn; fuck, fucker, fucking; cunt; piss; asshole; cock; bitch; tit and crap?just uttered with different intonations. I could see that she was utterly embarrassed to hear these foul obscenities coming out of her mouth.
The trouble expanded when I discovered that she couldn't say 'yes' or 'no' reliably. That is, I could say, "Are you a girl?," and she might nod her head, but say, "no." I could then ask, "Is your hair green?", and she'd shake her head, but say, "yes".
I had a flash of inspiration, though, and I took her over to my desk. I took out three sheets of paper, and taped each down to the desk surface. On one sheet, I printed the word NO large, solid, and colored red. On the other sheet, I printed YES equally large and solid, but colored green. On a third sheet of paper, set above Göztepe travesti the two other sheets, and a little above them, I printed a large question mark, which I outlined in black, with the center of the character still white.
I got it across that she was to put her whole hand on the word that answered my question, or on the question mark if she didn't know the answer ... or if she didn't want to answer. Then I asked some questions, but repeated myself a lot, and I think I got about 70% accuracy in her replies.
An hour later, she started to nod off, and I quickly made up a pillow and blanket bed on the couch. I used the bathroom, and then pointedly went to the bedroom, but left the door open.
Strangely enough, I fell asleep.
About two or three in the morning, I awoke, to find a lovely Asian girl asleep in my arms. She was 'dressed' in the outfit I'd forgotten about, that I'd left in the bathroom. The black open-lace cat-suit I'd bought on impulse: the backless, armless, one-size-fits-all version, which was sitting on the vanity in the bathroom.
The lace outfit that I was completely sure that she was wearing under my robe, when we ate and when we tried to communicate. The open-lace outfit that was totally bare-pussy crotchless, which I saw in the moonlight coming in from the window, reflecting on a completely smooth pussy, and small, pert tits, under the sheer material.
I folded her arms around me again and managed to fall back asleep without committing sex, but my dreams were disordered.
In the morning, I woke, to find my rescued Asian kitten asleep on the pillow beside me, a little smile on her lips. I could see her arms, and the swell of her little, pointed breasts under the black mesh cat-suit. I got up to piss, and to wash off my cock (a habit I'd developed years ago), and then went back to the bed. To sleep some more, I thought.
No way!
My kitten was awake, eyes open, still smiling, laying there on the bed, with the covers pushed down. Arms over her head. One leg drawn up, the other partially straightened out. A seductive pose, if I ever saw one. I stared at her smoothly shaven pussy for a full minute, framed, as it were with the black lace cat-suit's crotch opening. My cock rose to its full length. Since I sleep nude (another habit I developed, years ago), the evidence bobbed only a couple of feet from her face. Her eyes widened, but she still smiled lazily.
Then she said, in a low, half-whisper voice, "Ahhh. Fuck? Cunt!", as she languidly gestured at her pussy opening, clearly visible in the morning sunlight streaming through the window.
I suppose I should have waited until she had more language, so she could clearly give consent. Or maybe I should have tentatively kissed her, and gently caressed her neck and back, and then discreetly discovered if she really was stimulated and wanted me to make gentle love to her. I could have done all those things.
But, of course, we just fucked! I positioned myself between her widely opened thighs, placed my throbbing cock-head into her pussy, and thrust. To my utter delight, I sunk into a very wet well of lubricated female lust, and, after a dozen more thrusts, was completely seated inside my new speech-impaired, Asian fuck-buddy.
She left her arms over her head, stretching out her lovely and lithe body, and pointing her tits straight up at me, arching her back, and groaning wordlessly. Her smile got wider and more radiant, and she licked her lips, as I drove my cock into her rhythmically.
I found that I was pretty big for her size (too tall and heavy, but not too big a cock), so I grasped her hips, and rolled her over so she was on top. Her eyes widened some more, then narrowed, as she matched my thrusts with her downward driving movements. She chanted aloud, "Ahhh. Ohhhh. Yeah, fuck. Fuck, Küçükyalı travesti fuck, fuck. Yeah, fuck cunt. Fuck cunt, soooo deeeep. Yeah, fuck cunt. Cunt, love cunt fucked, cunt, cunt, yeah, fuck meeeeee."
I kept thrusting in pleasure, as part of me noted the sudden improvement in language. I reached up and squeezed her small but distinctly shaped breasts and rigid, straining auroleas and nipples. I said, still thrusting into her, "What's your (thrust) name, little (thrust) girl?" She widened her eyes, but struggled, still pushing up and down all over my cock, "Ahhh, fuck me, fuck me cunt, yeah, Jam, no, Jamey, no, ahhh, shit, fuck Jane, yeah, Jane, Plain Jane, Plain Jane, Plain Jane Park, fuck, yeah, fuck Plain Jane Park cunt. Fuck me, fuck Jane Park, fuck cunt, fuck meeeee."
I gasped out, "Hello, Plain Jane Park. Thank you for trusting me. Ahhhh, I'm gonna cum." That's all the warning I gave her, as I hardened, and shot my screaming, power-thrusting load into her. Shot and shot, and subsided.
Then lay there, amazed, as she pulled her pussy off my softening cock with a 'plop,' and then wrapped her lips around my weakening member, gently sucking on it, as I softened further. She avoided my hypersensitive glans, but gently sucked on all the rest, for many minutes, until my limp cock was about an inch long. Then she swirled her tongue around the whole shrunken cock. And then, she looked up at me, and grinned like a maniac, saying, with a laugh, "Ohhhh, fuck cunt. Fuck! Cunt. Suck cunt. Yeah, suck cunt."
She settled down on the bed beside me, and snuggled into my arm, leaving me virtually speechless. I could talk to her, just barely, but only when I was having sex with her, deep inside her.
After resting a while, I went to the other room to fix us some brunch, clean up, and then start looking through the Internet for information on 'aphasia.'
So what my little Asian girl displayed was a fairly pure, but severe, case of expressive aphasia?language loss, due to a stroke. She knew what she wanted to say but just couldn't think of the word or words. She could hear and read OK, but she couldn't speak beyond her obscenities, nor could she write, print or type. She could identify and match pictures, and point out similarities. That's how, along with her name, I discovered that her background was Korean. That is, her parents were Korean, but she'd been raised speaking American English, in the Los Angeles area.
I got the general idea that she'd come to middle-America with her boyfriend and a best-girlfriend, but had a seizure and then a stroke. While she was in the hospital, boyfriend said something like, 'I didn't sign on for this,' and abandoned her, taking her best-friend/girlfriend along, too, and they'd left, taking the car, her clothes, and most of the money. When her own money ran out, she was 'discharged from treatment,' put in an ambulance, and then 'dumped' on the streets, a month ago.
Completely illegal, of course, but who'd care about an obviously crazy, little Asian 'ho' from out-of-town with no money and no friends. She'd been living by her wits, on the street, without any spoken language since then, and slowly starving.
I couldn't find out where the blanket came from.
So I had a new companion?and fuck-buddy?to take care of, who couldn't speak clearly. She could speak a little, but only when being fucked. The challenge was obvious, and we both joyfully embarked on a program of language stimulation by Braille, plus 'speaking-in-tongues.'
One of the first pieces of information I picked up was that both of her parents were dead. I also picked up that, before the stroke, she was something of a free-spirit, and she loved sex, both guys and girls. This was why, on our first evening, when I fed her, she had found the black lace cat-suit after her shower, Avrupa yakası travesti and she'd flowed into it as soon as she was dry. I also found out that she had awakened before me, and arranged herself on the bed, so that I'd get a 'really good look' at her body, when I came back to bed.
Let me say this about that: Plain Jane Park was a Korean hottie. She loved the feeling of a man's hard penis in her. She loved sex and sexing. She knew it, and she made very sure I knew it.
Often!
A little experiment (three fucks-worth) revealed that just being eaten out didn't have much effect, at first. She had to be penetrated and fucked toward her first orgasm for her language to emerge. Then, if I managed to withdraw from her lovely body, I could lick and suck her, while she screamed and orgasmed, and still listen to her talk. I will say that it became fairly hard to talk back with my mouth and tongue buried in her pussy, and lapping at her clit. At the end, I could re-enter her body, and try to settle in for a steady, long-distance fuck, while we talked.
I tried?I really did try?to last, but eventually, her writhing and cumming would get to me and I'd have to shoot my load into her.
Which she loved, but which decreased her language skills nearly back to their original state. Then, her arms and body wrapped nakedly around me, she'd tell me, "Fuck. Fuck slut cunt! Ahhhh, fuck..."
I took my Plain Jane Part shopping for clothes, since her own mostly dissolved in the wash. I bought the usual stuff (panties, bras, jeans, skirts, blouses and sweaters, and a couple of purses. I got her a bikini bathing suit for the pool (which she insisted, by signs, had to be the loudest, brightest and skimpiest the store had to offer). I also bought her a 'little black dress,' for evening wear, and a real string of pearls for her tiny neck, plus a set of low-heel, strappy, 'fuck-me' sandals, and anther set of low-heel 'fuck-me' boots.
It was when she dragged me to the little sex-shop in the mall, that she made me buy some open cup bras, crotchless panties, and a couple of sheer baby-doll outfits, and I knew I was gonna get laid for a lot of nights to come.
One of the problems that came on rapidly was that she was barely 4' 10" and weighed under 100 lbs., soaking wet. Now, I was about 6' 3" and well over 220 lbs., so there was something of a mis-match in size. I suppose that she could have continued on top forever (I'd have loved it), but she often wanted a deep, powerful, driving, hard-cock penetration of her tiny body, and I have to get on top to satisfy her needs, which left her half-suffocated under my chest, if I wasn't careful.
So, in about a week of steady screwing, I found my fuck-buddy Jane surfing through the net, looking at pictures on porn sites. She'd found a site with several varieties of sex-swings, and she pointed out the one she wanted. Four well-padded straps: one around her back; one under her butt; and one for each leg. The problem was that it hung from the ceiling, and I was renting a suite of rooms in a residence inn: I doubted that they'd want me drilling holes in the ceiling, and I thought the bi-weekly maid service would be sure to see it.
Nevertheless, that was the one she pointed at, and so, 'whatever Lola wants, Lola gets.' Renting a drill and a set of carbide-tipped bits, I carefully drilled a hole in the poured-concrete ceiling, inside the bedroom, over in a corner. Then I slid in a plastic anchor, and twisted a long, high-strength screw-hook into the hole, which expanded the plastic to a point where it would have taken power equipment to pull out.
The swing arrived in a few days (thank you, 2nd day Air delivery), and I was able to attach it to the ceiling hook, which I'd covered with a rough coating of that same caulk material: the hook was just about invisible, if a person wasn't looking for it (and who, after all, looks up at the ceiling?). When I pushed a white cap off a laundry spray-on aerosol can, it was invisible. I figured that a dowel pounded into the hole, and a dab of the white caulking material would disguise the hole, when I moved out.