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Clara: Summer Rose

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[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. As such, the story may or may not totally conform to reality. With some occasional historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]


My Christian name is Clara, Clara Klackenbush, but for most of my life I was called Summer Rose, or just simply, Rose. ‘Tis hard, hard indeed to believe that tomorrow, January 30, I will be ninety-six years old. But then, I’m a survivor, always have been. Still, ninety-six is something. I wonder how much longer I’ll continue to “survive.”

Not much remains of the looks I once had. My flaming red hair is red no more. My once very well endowed chest–well, let’s just say it went south and flat. My green eyes are still green, but the sparkle has dulled. Skin that once was compared to the creamy white soft skin of a baby is now loose and wrinkled, including my once beautiful face. And my waspish waist? Let’s just say it’s no longer waspish by any stretch of the imagination. My drab house dress is a far cry from the outfits I wore seventy and more years ago.

Ah, but I do remember–almost all of it. Life began for me in January of 1854 in Peoria, Illinois. My thirty year old father worked in a brewery and my twenty-five year old mother was, of course, a housewife. Life was good. Good that is until 1867, when mother died of consumption.

The next five years were bad. Father always had been a drinker of sorts, but after the death of my mother, he really hit the bottle hard. Beer on the job at the brewery, beer in one or more saloons on the way home, and then beer at home. I tried to keep things together at home, but it was a losing, downhill battle. But, I survived.

Father died of alcohol induced liver disease in 1872 and I found myself to be an eighteen year old orphan. The authorities had been threatening Father to place me in foster care for some time before he died. Now, I was sure they would do so.

I had another strike against me as well. I did not think the way society said girls my age, or of any age for that matter, should think. Unrestrained by lack of a mother and an indifferent father, I was a free thinker. My independence and willfulness to break convention or anything else, was boundless. I was “unrestrained,’ to say the least.

One saving grace Father had was to aid my escape now. He spent most of his wages on beer and women, but he unfailingly saved one dollar a week for me. Over five years, after skimping on the household, I had a small nest egg of two-hundred-thirty-five dollars and fifty cents. That may not sound like much to you now, but let me tell you, in 1872, that was quite a sum of money.

I packed what few belongings I had in an old carpet bag and headed for the train station. For those who needed to know what a young lady of my tender age was doing alone, I told the story of going to see a spinster aunt in Wyoming. The aunt was, of course, nonexistent. What I would do when I got there, was still up in the air. I didn’t have the slightest idea.

“Where in Wyoming?” asked the ticket agent.


It was the only place in Wyoming I could think of quickly enough to answer his question without arousing suspicion. It was also a place I knew the transcontinental railroad went through.

“Well, young lady, this ticket will get you a ride on the Burlington to Iowa. There, you get a ticket on the Union Pacific at Council Bluffs and that will take you to Cheyenne.”

“Thank you, sir.”

After paying for the ticket, I had some money left over, but not a lot. I’d have to hoard it carefully. There was no food available on the train, so I’d have to buy some along the way. I knew there were places that served train passengers, but I couldn’t afford to buy very much.

“Train leaves in thirty minutes, Missy, noon sharp,” the ticket agent told me.

“Thank you, sir.”

As I said earlier, I’d no idea what I’d do once I reached my destination, but I knew I did have to get out of Peoria and the clutches of those who would put me in foster care. I wouldn’t be considered “legally of age” until I reached my twenty-first birthday. I was far too independent in nature and had been more or less on my own with Father far too long to put up with that.

Only after the train was on its way to did I begin to relax and think that I’d once again survived. I was lightly dozing when I felt a tap on my shoulder


“Pardon me, Ma’am, my name is Abner. I couldn’t help but see you are traveling alone and wondered if I might invite you to join me for lunch?”

I was groggy, but not that groggy. I was well aware no eating facilities existed on the train. “Lunch, where?”

“Why in my private car, of course. I’d gone back to the observation car for a cigar and was returning to my own car when I saw you again.”

Only then did I really look at him. He was ten or fifteen bahis firmaları years older than I, extremely well dressed, and quite handsome. It must have been that old survival instinct cutting in again and overriding other concerns, because, without much hesitation, I said, “Yes.”

We didn’t speak as we threaded our way through two more cars to his private, Pullman built palace car. I was stunned. The car contained a huge, guilt parlor, sleeping quarters, and a small galley for fixing meals. It truly was a palace on wheels.

“My home away from home. My father owns two railroads and several manufacturing plants. I use this car to shuttle between those businesses. But right now, I’m on a holiday/business trip to California.”

“It’s just gorgeous.”

I said that out loud, but I was thinking that I could come to like such luxurious surroundings quite easily. How to obtain them was the still unanswered question.

“Let’s sit and eat. Jaffey will serve.”

A Negro servant placed a tasty lunch before us and we fell to with gusto. I was starved. However, two minutes into lunch, I was faced with a decision. With a hand lingering on mine on the table top, with verbal innuendo, and with eyes all but undressing me, the message was clear–I want you. Sleep with me.

It only took me seconds to respond–my survival instincts again, I suppose. I spontaneously raised his other hand off my knee where he had just placed it and replaced it higher up on my inner thigh. Of course the clothing of the time was quite an impediment, but he got the message. I wasn’t even embarrassed enough to blush.

I had never experienced intimate sex with another person to that point, but I wasn’t ignorant of “the birds and the bees.” I’d seen the dirty French pictures and stories that Father had hidden away and I’d pleasured myself in private quite a lot for some time. Now, lonely and emotionally vulnerable, I wanted to experience what I’d seen and read about. And, who knows, maybe this guy would make it worth my while in some way beyond just pleasure.

We finished lunch in a leisurely fashion. My thigh was quite warm by that time. At the conclusion of lunch, Abner rose, took both my hands in his and drew me up into a tight embrace. I could easily see the circle of light skin on his finger where his wedding ring should have been.

“Naughty, naughty, Abner!”

I said that as I held his left hand up before his eyes.

Ignoring my gesture, Abner said, “You are so very lovely, Clara. Your beauty takes my breath away.”

“I bet you say that to all your girls, Abner.”

“Yes, I do as a matter of fact,” he said with a knowing smile, “but you are far and away the most beauteous of them all. With your flaming red hair and green eyes, you remind me of a summer rose.”

“And your wife…”

“My wife has her lovers; I have mine.”

His hands rested on my back side cheeks and he dug in hard to pull me tight against himself. I felt his hardness crush into my woman parts and lower belly. He was really big and really hard.

“And is your lance always ready to pierce such beauty?”

“Yes, always, my pet.”

Our mouths met in a passionate kiss. I felt his tongue probe my lips. I didn’t know what he wanted, but he managed to force my mouth open and show me when his tongue found mine. I just did what came naturally as I followed his lead.

His hands came around to caress my more than ample bosom. I flinched at first, revealing my inexperience, but warmed to his touch. I grew bolder and slipped my hand down to his crotch. What did a real man spear feel like?

I quickly found out. And, I liked what I could feel through his clothes. I wondered what that man flesh would feel like, skin to skin, without the clothes. You may notice I had not yet acquired the vocabulary of a slut.

Of a sudden, I started just a bit again when Abner began to unbutton my blouse. I guess he knew I wasn’t quite as experienced as I was trying to make him think. My chest was heaving in both arousal and in some trepidation of what was happening.

As Abner finished with my blouse buttons, I hesitantly at first and then with growing confidence, removed his jacket, tie, and collar. We kept at it until I was left with only my light summer shift and Abner in his waist to knee length BVD’s.

To me, the bulge at his crotch looked monstrous, but I had nothing to compare it to. My curiosity almost overrode my timidity as I again hesitantly reached for the waistband of his BVD’s. Abner took my hand in mid air and guided it to his bulge. God, but it was long and hard. I squeezed and he groaned.

Then I reached for his waistband and pulled his BVDs down slowly, exposing his erect male flesh inch by inch from the point of its helmet on down the shaft. That it was both hard and velvety soft at the same time surprised me. I petted and rubbed it in awe. I ran a finger over and around the tip. Abner shuddered. Clear liquid was pearling from the orifice. I spread it around the tip of his spear with my thumb.

“That’s called precum and you’re driving kaçak iddaa me wild with what you are doing.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Good heavens, no, woman!”

“Your member is so, so, uh, fascinating.”

“It’s called a ‘cock’ dear, or peter, dick, prick and more.”

“Yes, your c, c, cock.”

“Take it in your mouth, Clara.”

“In, in m, my m, mouth?”

I had seen pictures of this, yes, but I was still hesitant. It seemed such a dirty, unclean thing to do.

“Yes, in your mouth.”

He did not give me a choice. He took advantage of my hesitancy and open mouth to put his cock in it himself. I gagged, but recovered quickly.

The hard/soft, velvety feel, the pulsing and quivering quickly converted me to an avid cocksucker. I liked sucking it. He wanted me to swallow all of it, but I gagged too hard. It was just too long for me to take it all in. Taking a cock that long was just something I couldn’t yet accomplish.

“Enough. I don’t want to cum yet.”

Abner removed his cock from my mouth, pulled me upright, and dropped the straps of my shift off my shoulders, allowing it to slide slowly down my arms.

“Ah, such beautiful tits, boobs if you prefer,” he said as they were slowly exposed.

The shift was supposed to come off over my head. It was pulled clear of my, ah, boobs, only with difficulty. My hips were far too big for it to clear them without ripping.

Abner leaned down to lick one boob and nipple and then the other. My nipples tingled with a fire I’d never felt before. I could also feel a fiery itch building in my crotch. Abner then did rip my shift apart as he yanked it down past my hips. Now we were both naked.

I blushed. I was already red in the face from the building sexual tension, so I don’t know how much my blushing was evident. After all, this was the first time in my adult life I was totally naked in front of anyone, let alone a man. My crotch burned like fire. Abner’s hand dropped to it and was met by a very wet slit.

“Ahhh, woman. What a lovely pussy bush, fire red just as your top hair. And what luscious pussy lips you have. Slippery wet with anticipation and desire. Gorgeous.”

“My woman parts have never been touched by anyone but me until now, Abner. I’m sorry if I’m shy.”

“It’s called a pussy, Clara, or a cunt, snatch, box, twat, or what have you. And your shyness is part of your virgin allure, dear. I so dearly do love your fire red bush.”

“Well, now you’re driving me wild with what you are doing to it with your hand. Don’t stop.”

“Oh, I don’t intend to.”

Abner had parted my now swollen cunt lips with his fingers and was rubbing up and down my crevice, rubbing the lips with his outside fingers and coursing up and down inside my slit with his middle finger. He had me really on fire.

When his middle finger found my opening, he plunged it in all the way and I climaxed. A gush of fluid drenched his hand.

“Ah, a squirter,” Abner cried. “I knew I’d found a treasure in you.”

I already knew my maidenhead had a natural opening in it from when I had pleasured myself with small items such as carrots. His finger had found its way through that opening.

But now as he pulled me in close and we were still standing, he replaced his fingers with his cock at my opening. I was fearful of taking him in. His cock looked so big to me. But, as it were, I was sufficiently wet to take it in about helmet deep or so before he met the obstruction. Then with a swift, hard lunge, his sword, ah, his cock broke through and sunk in to the hilt, so to speak.

I cried out in pain and whimpered, but Abner stopped only briefly. He was too intent on his own pleasure at that moment and he resumed pumping again, vigorously. Eventually the pain eased and I began to feel the pleasure of a good coupling. Soon, I would call it what it really was, a damned good fuck. Talking like a slut came slowly for me, a supposedly “good” girl, but I was learning.

Abner had by now backed me into an interior wall and picked me up by my butt. My legs went around his waist as he pounded into me harder and harder. A picture fell from the wall with a crash. A wall sconce covering an unlit candle fell and also crashed to the floor.

I exploded in the most powerful orgasm of my short life. Abner let out a roar as his cock expanded yet more and then exploded, pumping out his seed deep into my insides. My pleasure was so intense that I briefly fainted.

Both of us were sweating from the early spring warmth, but I suspect our exertions had much more to do with that sweat than the weather. Abner calmed down and withdrew his cock with a squishy plop.

“Lick me clean, Clara.”


“I said, lick me clean. Now do it.”

I wasn’t a bit happy with that command. But after I got started, I really liked the taste of his seed, mixed with my juices. Cum, or spunk, Abner called it. When I finished, he was hard again.

“It’s too soon to make use of this boner, Clara, if…


“Hardon, erection, stiff one, and so on, dear.”

“Oh.” kaçak bahis

“Now, as I started to say, if you want to freshen up, the washroom has running water although it’s cold.”

“Running water?”

“Yes, there’s a special built, overhead tank and gravity brings the water down to the tap.”

“Where are we?” I asked as I looked out the window.

“We’re just outside Quincy. This car will be coupled onto the train going west, the one you would be on anyway. It’s already arranged, we don’t have to do anything and can just stay put here inside. You go ahead and freshen up. you’ll find a robe in the closet and I’ll go get one of mine from my bedroom.”

While I got cleaned up, I also got thinking. So, Clara, how does it feel to no longer be a virgin? Do you feel like a slut? What’s more, did you get pregnant? Too late now for recriminations, the dirty deed is done. Where do you go from here?

As I saw it then, I had four choices: get married, own or clerk in a small women’s shop, teach, or become a prostitute. I had no prospects for marriage and it with all it’s restriction on a woman, really didn’t appeal to me anyway.

I nowhere near had the means for the second choice. The third choice was just as restrictive as the other two and I had no training.

Ah, but the fourth choice. I’d never considered prostitution in my daydreaming about running away. But now? I’d suddenly discovered sex and at the same time, I discovered that I liked sex very, very much. As a prostitute, I could get all I could ever manage and be free of society’s restrictions on women that I would have in the other roles. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of prostitution.

We were coupled on to the westbound train. I rode with Abner in his private car as far as Council Bluffs, Iowa. We fucked ourselves silly most of the way. I learned that I really did enjoy, even grew to require, lots of sex. The gates had been opened. We were naked all the time except at meals when we donned our robes in deference to the Negro servant, Jaffey. At our stop in Council Bluffs, Abner gave me the news.

“I got a telegram at our last stop that causes me to make a change of plans. I have to make a detour and can’t take you with me. The car will be uncoupled from this train now and recoupled to another.”

“Then this is good-bye, Abner?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ll really miss your company, not to mention your sweet little pussy, Clara. But please allow me to give you this.”

He handed me one-thousand dollars–in cash. Now, in 1872, that was a very tidy sum of money. very tidy indeed.

“You have pleased me very, very much, Clara. A woman in a high class bordello or parlor house would cost me at least that much in short order. The pleasure of deflowering such a beautiful young woman as yourself is worth every penny of that money. In fact, you might consider that as a career in your options of where you go from here.”

“Thank you, Abner.”

That was said with a big smile. If you only knew, was what I was thinking.

After a brief pause in which he seemed to be considering something, Abner pulled a card from the nearby desk and handed it to me.

“In fact, Clara, if you should decide to take that road, you should look up this woman in Cheyenne and tell her I recommended you.

The card read, “Suzzette’s Gentleman’s Palace.” I just stood there, mouth agape, money in my hand. I told you, I was a survivor. But at that moment, I just couldn’t think straight in any direction.

“You’d best hurry a bit, Clara, your westbound train leaves in less than twenty minutes.”

Quickly, I snapped out of my daze and quickly dressed, minus my ripped shift of course. My worn carpetbag of sparse belongings was quickly packed. The platform was milling with people when I detrained after a passionate kiss good-bye. I mingled easily with them.

Abner and I had been feasting on sex so much, we’d not eaten recently and I was starved. If I got lucky, there was time for a quick bite of food, even if I had to bring it back with me to the train. I went into the the track-side Harvey House restaurant and managed to buy some food. But someone yelled the train was about to get underway and I had to run for it and worry about eating once I got back aboard.

Jeeze, I just made it, just, but I lost my coffee in the reach for the grab iron on the entrance step to the car. Once seated, I took out my food and slowly ate my precious bits of sustenance.

I had read of the Harvey House restaurants along the tracks and the famous Harvey girls who served as waitress in them. The first one had just opened in Topeka two years earlier. That would be a very good job indeed and a way to meet a husband, but the job did not appeal to me.

Somehow, I imagined my now soiled dove status was visible to any who looked at me and thus would probably deny me that job opportunity. Besides, I thought that I’d already found my calling.

The rest of the ride along the North Platte River was very pleasant, but uneventful. But it did give me the time to think further about and sort out my options. I might succeed in obtaining a job as a Harvey girl, but I knew that to be a strictly regulated, dormitory style life. I now enjoyed sex too much to be tied to that.

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