The Legend of Zelda


It was the late 70s. I was in college and not old enough to drink legally, but looked old enough so that my ID was rarely checked. I worked as a cook in a steak house and my asshole manager, Newman, stalked into the kitchen after closing time and barked “There is some cunt asking about you in the bar. The only reason I didn’t throw her out is because she is spending money. Go get rid of her and get your ass back here to clean up.”

“Fuck you” I mumbled as I took off my grungy apron and went up to the bar. The “cunt” Newman was bitching about was the most fun person I know: my aunt Rhoda. She had the craziest laugh I ever heard and a throaty voice that was so gravelly it seemed phony. Her laugh was not a chuckle, but a bellow, and she made everyone around her laugh as well.

Rhoda was named for a famous nymph in Greek mythology and she took pride in knowing only part of the legend, that is, that nymphs were so sexual that they scared mortal men. They were so sexually free (not ideal for women of that time) that ancient Greek men figured they were evil at their core. Actually, they were female fairies that embodied that Cyndi Lauper hit, “Girls Just Want To Have Fun.” And my Aunt Rhoda embodied that spirit. She was married, to a huge Cajun that loved to cook and sing and had a mean streak, but on a regular basis she drove up to Kansas City from Port Arthur, Texas to visit her favorite sister and go to cowboy bars on the east side of town to find a cowboy to party with for a day or two. Mom hated Rhoda’s loose morals, but loved her laugh and her company, so she overlooked the sexual dalliances and Rhoda stayed with us when she visited.

I was in college in a large college town called Springfield when Rhoda was calling for me in the bar. The assistant manager, the bartender and a group of regulars were laughing so hard that they were wiping tears from their eyes when I walked into the bar. She saw me, jumped up out of the barstool and yelled across the bar: “Come here and hug me, you sexy thing!!” She crushed herself against me and hugged me so hard I could barely breathe.

“Rhoda, what are you doing here?”

“I am on my way back to visit Grandma and Grandpa and came through Springfield to see my favorite nephew!” All the guys guffawed when they could see the embarrassment on my face. I was used to her antics, and I knew her heart was in the right place, but the donkeys in the bar brayed about what they thought was taboo sexuality.

“How long will you be in Springfield?”

“I am leaving late tomorrow morning but I am going out tonight with a friend of mine and wanted to invite you to meet us. We are going to the Hitchin’ Post to see if we can get lucky with a cowboy, and I thought I should buy you a beer.”

“The Hunchin’ Post,” I thought to myself. It was a notorious pick-up joint for the drunk rednecks that lived here. Unlike the bars on the east side in KC, these were no weekend cowboys caught up in the fever of “Urban Cowboy.” They were the real deal: beat up pick-up trucks, beat up girlfriends and beat up best friends if someone got their nose out of joint. “OK,” I agreed, “but I can only stay for one or two, I have class tomorrow. Look for me in about an hour, I have to finish up here and shower and change clothes.”

She grabbed my face in both of her hands and gave me a huge smacker on the lips. “Don’t be too late, it isn’t polite to leave a lady waiting.”

More grunts, oinks and guffaws from the guys in the bar. I went back to the kitchen and asked Tony Zito if he would finish up for me. He agreed, and I clocked out. Newman was on his ass in the office and yelled as I walked by to hit the back door “Jack! You cocksucker! Get your ass back here, or you’re fired!” He continued to rant as I left.

“Fuck you, Newman” was all I could think as I jogged to the ’71 Gremlin that I called my ride. It was a piece of shit, but all I could afford. I drove home, jumped into the shower and tried to soap the scuzz away. My roommate, Jimbo, poked his head in the bathroom and asked if I was going out. When he heard I was meeting my aunt at the Hunchin’ Post, he cackled his ass off and started singing in a twangy voice, “Stand by yer man…”

It trailed away and then it hit me. I was not a cowboy. I had not idea how to dress or how to act, and I was asking for trouble.

As I dried off, I caught the clock out of the corner of my eye, and I was still ahead of schedule. I might actually catch her there. I was concerned that even if I risked life and limb to go into a honky-tonk, she would have already found her cowboy du jour and left for the night. I thought, “fuck it” and put on my usual going-out garb: sandals, corduroys and an un-ironed cotton dress shirt. I did grab my roomie’s cowboy hat on the way out and drove the Gremlin POS to the Hitchin’ Post.

God. Even on a Wednesday night the place was packed. I had to park on a spit of dirt and gravel in the back of the joint and fight my way into the crowded front door. There must have been two hundred cowboy hats and bursa escort two hundred blonde beehive hairdos. I heard the live band pumping out “Redneck Mother” and figured it might not be all bad. I got a beer and leaned against a post in the middle of the bar and started looking for Rhoda. No dice. I couldn’t find her anywhere. A bouncer walked closely by and I touched his arm and yelled above the music, “Hey, can you tell me if you have seen an older redhead wearing a bright yellow vest?”

He looked at the hand on his arm, sneered at me and asked, “You’re kidding, right?”

“What a dumbshit,” I thought to myself. How could I ask something so obviously stupid? I looked again and was ready to call it a night when a melodic voice, right by my ear asked if I needed another beer. I turned to tell the waitress that I was fine, only to find that it was not a waitress. I didn’t know who it was, but she looked like she stepped off of the set of “Hee Haw.” She was probably in her late forties or early fifties and had sky blue eyeshade and impossibly long eyelashes. She wore a gingham top that was pulled low in front and tightly around her bust to give that “foot of cleavage” look. She had those sprayed-on tight jeans, red cowgirl boots and a cute bouffant blonde hairdo that must have taken three cans of AquaNet to manage. She was so cute I said, “Sure. I need another beer. Can I get one for you?” She just grinned, produced two beers from behind her and gave me one. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I jokingly asked.

She lowered her lids a bit, and her smile went from innocent to seductive. “Only if it makes getting you in the sack that much easier,” she replied.

Wow. I was OK looking, almost six feet tall and in pretty good shape, but the college girls who knew me thought that I was an arrogant ass. The ones who didn’t know me that I was a socialist dork because of my bushy hair, my fu manchu and my Trotskyesque conversation. This one was cute and clueless and had “cut me out of the herd” based soley on the way I looked. I wasn’t sure if it was because I looked cute, lonely or just available, but being hit on was refreshing.

She had to be my mom’s age, but she was very appealing. Her tits were heavy and round, she had a tiny waist and this crazy round ass and hips like a mare. When she turned around to pick up her denim jacket off of a chair, I clucked to myself. She really did look like a horse: a beautiful round ass with huge powerful cheeks, and tiny tapered legs. Her little boots reminded me of the painted hooves I saw at the circus when I was eight years old.

She draped her jean jacket over her arm and I noticed her beer was already gone. “Are you about ready to go?” she asked.

“Holy shit,” I thought. “I just met this woman ninety seconds ago.”

I stammered a reply “Well, I was looking for someone.”

“So were you looking for someone in particular? Or just someone closer to your age?” She didn’t appear to be hurt, she appeared to be a little bit pissed-off.

“No, ma’am. I just remembered that I was looking for you.” I grinned and she was disarmed a bit, I drained my beer and we headed out the door. There was no way that getting laid could be this easy. No way. We cleared the door and she put her arm around me and slipped her tiny hand with the long, red fingernails into my back pocket and put her head against my upper arm. Even in her shitkickers with the three inch heels, she could not have been much more than five feet tall. She didn’t mention a car, so I led her to the mighty Gremlin.

I escorted her to the passenger side and opened the door for her. “You’re not serious. This is your car?” Her laugh was high and clear and didn’t bother me in the least. She slipped into the POS and I got in the driver’s side and asked her where-to.

“I thought we might go back to your place,” she started. “That is, of course, unless you live with your momma.”

I told her my roommates were pigs and that she would not be comfortable in my twin bed, so she said, “Take me to my room at the Howard Johnson. We might get lucky and find out that my roommate has found other accommodations for the night.”

We drove north on the main drag, and she pulled out a tiny compact from a jacket pocket and checked her lipstick and her eye makeup in the mirror. I was not sure if I liked her sarcasm or not. She seemed to flip back and forth between truly wanting me to screw her and patronizing me for being a poor student. “Hmm. Older chicks,” I thought. ” I hope the sex is worth it.”

As the AMC six cylinder whined its way north, she turned in her seat and asked, “So, what’s your name, Sweetie?” Her smile was genuine and her teeth were large and formed a bit of an overbite. Her eyes sparkled and for emphasis, on the word “Sweetie,” she shook a bit in her seat. That is the first time I noticed how truly impressive her tits were. Although this was an era before the proliferation of the “push ’em up, push ’em up, way-ay-ay up!” cheerleader Wonderbras, her cleavage was high, deep and proud. Her bosom was heavy and continued to jiggle for a second or two after her torso had stopped. Damn.

“Jack. Not John, just Jack.”

“So, tell me about your beanstalk, Jack…” She cackled and leaned forward and put her hand on my crotch. She rubbed a bit until she could find where my shaft laid. She stroked the corduroy until it started hardening and she squealed like a kid. Now, we should probably get this out of the way right now: even in my youth, my cock was average. Maybe six inches when truly angry, no thicker than normal. She continued to touch it with her palm and fingertips and stared at the tent being formed in my pants. I had gone commando, my corduroys were pretty loose so my cock moved to center and began sticking straight up.

In order to keep my mind on the road I asked for her name. “Zelda. I know it is old fashioned and sounds a little too country, but it is memorable.” About the time when I feared I might cum in my pants, the lights of the Howard Johnson appeared on the right, and I asked which wing her room was on. She gave directions, I drove right to the lower-level door, and stopped the car. I turned toward her, and she was already getting out of the car and trying to dig a key out of her tight rear pocket.

She flung the door open, tossed her jacket on the bed and jumped into the middle of the double bed nearest the windows. As she propped herself up on one elbow grinning like the winner of the lottery, I closed the door and took a quick look around. There were clothes and shopping bags all over the floor, and enough luggage for three or four people. There were obviously at least two people staying here, and it appeared they had been in the room for a couple of days.

“Where are you from, Zelda?” I asked as I flipped Jimbo’s cowboy hat onto the empty bed.

“Texas,” she replied as she continued to stare at me like a wolf might eye a spring lamb.

I unbuttoned my shirt, pulled out the tails, and pitched it onto the spare bed. “Are you going to be in Springfield long?” I asked as I kicked off my sandals.

She whistled and lowered her voice. “I love a hairy chest. I think I may have gotten lucky.” Was she avoiding the question? Or was she just distracted? I stood there in my corduroys and arched an eyebrow. “Go on,” she said. “I want to see how my luck is running.” Although this was not my first time by any means, and it was not even my first one-night stand, I felt a bit uncomfortable. She was fully clothed and at least twice my age. I felt like it was an audition. My cock was beginning to ache, so I plunged ahead. After a single button and a quick zip, I yanked my pants to the floor, kicked them off and stood before her, naked.

She smiled. She shifted onto her back, propping her upper torso on both elbows and I thought her tits were going to rip through the gingham. She parted her legs and quietly beckoned me forward. I climbed between her legs, her jeans a tad bit rough on my cock, my arms on each side of her waist and I kissed her. She closed her eyes, gave me her tongue, rolled her head back and I kissed her chin and her neck. She sighed and finally let herself down fully onto the bed. I lied on top of her and sucked on her neck and her collarbone and nestled my lower half down between her legs. She ran one hand through my hair and the other scratched on shoulder blade as I unbuttoned her blouse and I started chewing on her enormous nipple through the nylon lace of her bra. “Go easy, lover,” she murmured, “Go easy. My puppies like it gentle and slow.”

I reached behind her and tried to unhook her bra. “Tried” is the operative word. It was one of those works of MIT engineering: a three-inch rear strap and four hooks. She laughed, I laughed and in one swoop she pushed me to the side and rolled on top of me. It was her turn to straddle. I had never seen anything as sexy as the disheveled bottle blond, with her shirt unbuttoned and her impossibly white bra reaching behind herself to remove the contraption. It only took a second, and she pulled her arms from her shirt sleeves and from the bra in one motion. She pulled the cups away and her tits spilled out. I had to suck in my breath when she sat up straight and tossed the clothing onto the floor, because her body was unlike any I had ever seen before, and it was tremendously exciting.

As she straddled me I could tell she weighed very little, and I was right about how petite she was. Her waist was tiny and my hands could have easily spanned her rib cage, but her tits were huge. They fell deeply toward her belly, pointing downward, but retaining a very round quality. Her areolae were what my buddies referred to as “pancakes.” They were large and dark and three inches across. Her nipples were long and fat. Her tits were such a contrast to everything else above her waist: she had delicate features, tiny hands, a beautiful neck and a well-defined collarbone. Before I could look at her tits any longer, she lowered them onto my face. I couldn’t believe how warm and heavy they görükle escort bayan were. I tried to inhale them. She used her hands and their pendulous mass to drag them over my eyes and cheeks and forehead. When she directed one to my mouth, I suckled a nipple and she gasped. “Suck on Momma, baby. You like that, you dirty boy. Momma likes it, too,” she cooed in a musical voice. I was gentle but insistent. I had never experienced a real woman before, only girls that had no clue how erotic breasts could be. I licked her pancakes and quickly moved to the other tit, lest it get jealous. Zelda suddenly shifted so that she was beside me and began licking my nipples. She did not practice what she preached for she squeezed my cock in her hand and bit on my nipple so severely that it hurt. However, I noticed that my cock jumped at the same time. She gave a throaty chuckle and began licking my chest and kissing her way down to my navel. She dipped her tongue in and around my navel, and I was glad that I had showered. She shifted again and put her cheek against my cock. She moaned and stroked her cheek up and down along the length of it. As I reached up to grab her denim-covered ass, she kissed the head of my cock, and licked around the crown. I slid my hand between her legs and sawed it in and out along the seam at her crotch, and she sucked my cock into her mouth and began sucking in earnest. Her tongue continued to work against the shaft as she moved her mouth up and down and her cheeks pulled in to keep suction at a maximum.

With one hand she pumped my cock up and down in counterpoint to her mouth. I was frustrated as hell that the jeans were blocking access to her fun parts, so I flat-out asked her: “What would you think of getting naked with me?”

She sat up, still pumping with her hand, and answered: “Only if you let me turn the lights out.”

“Then let’s get it dark in here, because I need some of your sweet pussy.”

She stood up to peel the jeans and her panties down, and I turned the lights off in the room. Just as I got to the light in the bathroom, I noticed in the vanity-sink mirror that the flesh on her upper legs and ass was very loose and that she had a lot of cellulite. No wonder she was self-conscious. It really did not matter to me in the least, and I found the flaws somehow sexy. It made her appear more real to me.

By the time I got back to the bed, she was on her back, stroking her luxurious mound of pubic hair. This was the 70s and bush was in. Her thatch was thick and dark and I could just make out her fingers dancing over her clit. I scooted my body in between her legs and kissed her fingers. I sucked one of them into my mouth and she whispered, “Eat me.”

I put one hand under that wonderfully equine ass and used the other to hold the hair away from her clit. I kissed her on the erect clit and she began to mumble. As I licked it from side to side her mumbling increased and got more intense. I could not make out what she was saying, but it seemed to be positive feedback. I then began to lick up and down and I heard and audible “Oh, God,” and increased the tempo and pressure of that technique. I managed to get my hand into a position to stick my thumb in her pussy as the edge of my forefinger laid directly over her anus. I sawed my thumb in and out in the same rhythm as the up and down licking on her clit, and she grabbed the back of my head with one hand and began pulling on her nipples with the other. She began to move her head back and forth to the same cadence as the licking and the grip on my head became more insistent. I jabbed my thumb in and out at a more furious pace and laid my tongue flat against her clit and moved my entire face back and forth so quickly I feared making myself dizzy. Without warning she exploded.

“Jesus Whatthefuck Christ!” she yelled out as she grabbed a handful of my hair and began to bounce and jerk. I grabbed her ass with both hands and tried to keep my tongue against her clit. Her bucking increased as she just kept moaning “shit, shit, shit…”

A second wave of spasms began to shake her legs and my chin and hand became soaked by the juices from her pussy.

She began breathing hard and stopped shaking. I looked up at her and found her to be looking toward the window with a dazed expression. Her right hand loosened the grip on my hair, and her left hand had pinched her nipple into an angry red marble. She was barely moving by the time I slithered up her body and stuck my cock into her in one enthusiastic thrust.

She snapped her eyes to mine and grinned, grabbed my back in her hands and clicked her tongue like one would encourage a horse. So I rode her. I had never screwed a woman so fast or so hard in my life. She was pretty loose down there, so I found the best friction was deep within her. It was not a piece of art. I wanted a release. Her nails dug into me as she shouted obscenities and she sucked on my nipples and occasionally bit down on them. I called her a slut and she laughed. I yelled the word cunt in her face and she dug her nails deeper into back. I hissed that her cunt was too loose and she spat out that my dick was too small. It was a grudge match to see who could come first.

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