Dale's Porno Blog

“It’s in the streetlights as they first flicker on,” the old man said, lighting his pipe. A fragrant, bluish tail of smoke began to curl up toward the rafters. “The broadening glow, faint against the twilight but steadily growing, expanding in intensity until it forms an orangey cone. If the streets are deserted and the crickets quiet, you can hear it, the low hum that soon seems to rub the back of your head. Once you hear it, it doesn’t let go.”

He paused again, slowly letting a ring of smoke roll out of his mouth, upward toward the light bulb dangling on a long wire. I waited… and waited… and waited. Finally giving up hope that he would speak again, I leaned forward, “But what’s that got to do with…”

“Now calm down there, I’m getting to that. You asking what’s streetlights got to do with bluegrass? Right?” he asked, pausing until I nodded my head. “Well I’ll tell you. Not much, not much at all.”

“But…”

“Wait now, hear? I said not much, but it’s got a little to do with them. Like the buzzing, that buzzing that gets you in the back of your head. Once you hear it, it doesn’t let go. Well, bluegrass is like that.”

“Like a buzzing streetlight?” I asked, wondering from what low rent bar my publisher scraped this knot of wood from.

“It doesn’t sound like that, it’s just like that. It starts up when you’re young and you don’t really notice it, until it grows a little. Maybe it’s annoying at first, but soon you’re tapping your feet and before long you find it’s hard to sleep without it. Just like those streetlights.”

“Wait a minute here, you telling me they got streetlights in all these backwood towns around here. Hell, they haven’t even…”

“Okay, okay, you got me there,” the old man said. He grabbed a shot glass, quickly downed the whiskey, then grabbed a Blue Ribbon and took a swig. “I guess I better tell you a better story.”

“A better story? Just what is this?” I protested, ready to pack up my tape recorder and roll out of there. “Good thing the drinks’ll go on my expense report.”

“Now, now, don’t you go talking expense report, you hear? I really do know the bluegrass. You know that little girl… Allison, ah Allison…”

“Krause?”

“Yeah, that’s her. Well I knew her daddy, before he even got married. And I know her too. I used to eat with them almost every Sunday. Hell, she even calls me Pappy.”

I rolled my eyes in disbelief, noticing his beer glass was empty. Now was the time to get out. “Well, I think I’ve got…”

“Now don’t you go now. I know them Mountain Boys.”

“Which Mountain Boys?” I asked, wishing I had an idea what Bluegrass was about. Damn, I told them I could cover jazz, maybe some light rock, but Bluegrass? Crazy bunch of hillbillies.

“Darn now if you didn’t make me forget. I know Dolly.”

“Parton?”

“I said I know Dolly.”

“That’s Dolly Parton?”

“Yeah, I knew her before she got all her hair.”

“That’s it, I’m out of here,” I shouted, picking up the tape recorder. I tossed two twenties to the bartender. “Keep it,” I said as he reached to the register for change. Without even picking up a receipt, I headed to the door.

“But, I mean it,” the old man said, “I’m going to see Dolly tonight. She’s singing at the show tonight. I’ll meet her backstage.”

I continued out the door. “Dolly Parton, I’m sure,” I said to myself, opening my car door.

I headed back to the hotel, but couldn’t get my plane reservations changed. “Damn Podunk airport, one flight a day!” I mumbled to myself as I stretched out on the bed. After dozing for a couple of hours, I woke up and groggily turned on the TV.

There was nothing much on, so I clicked over to the movie menu and after looking through the regular movies, I took a peek at the porn selection they had. I had watched these movies before, first run hardcore stuff, except they cleaned off the cum shots. I decided order up one featuring some lesbian action so there was nothing I could miss.

I slipped off my jockeys and tee shirt and then went into the bathroom to grab a wash cloth. Returning to the bed I sat on the edge and saw the action had already started. Wincing a bit at the oversize breasts, I watched closely as the two women moved into a sixty-nine position. Between the moaning and slurping, I figured I’d better turn down the television, no need letting the neighbors know what I was watching.

As the women began to take turns coming, I teased my nipples a bit, feeling the sensation run down to my cock, which twitched with each pinch. With the exception of an occasional stroke on my cock, I concentrated on my nipples, holding myself off coming so early in the movie. I lasted through one scene, but the next scene included a redhead, a natural one from what I could tell here. Anyway, seeing the red hair above those delicious lips had me stroking myself furiously with my right hand while I circled my nipples with the fingers of my left hand.

Long before the scene ended I sprayed my come up onto my stomach, where it pooled in warm, white, glistening puddles. I watched as the red head came at the experienced mouth of her friend, and then turned off the movie. Using the washcloth I mopped myself up and then clicked over to the television.

For some reason the cable wasn’t working, so I had only the local Tri-Cities news to watch. I turned up the sound a bit and then something caught my attention. As I watched I had to sit up because there, there on the screen I saw him! I saw the old man I talked to in the bar, he was right there on the screen. I turned up the sound some more and listened.

“…a special surprise for Dolly Parton, ‘Old Pap’ Whittington stopped by to say hello. I tell you folks, it was some surprise. Most of the performers here tonight owe everything to ‘Old Pap.’”

Before I could turn off the sound, I heard Dolly Parton’s voice: “Why Pappy used to change my diapers…” The sound went mute as I hit myself in the head with the remote.

My forehead smarted as I turned off TV and started thinking about dinner. The bar was about the only place with any decent food. I grabbed my keys and headed for the car. As I started it the radio immediately began playing. I tried to find another station, but only one was working. “It’s gonna be a long night,” I moaned to myself as the banjo’s twanged loudly. “Damned Bluegrass!”