He seemed to press me harder each evening in our camp for me to tell him stories of my early life and the "glory days' of riding the rails. Well, I'd ...issed those days - way before my time, by the 1960's things were a bit more sordid."Surely" he would ask me, "There must have been some woman sometime, somewhere that I had met that would 'keep me at home' and off of the road?"The problem was, there really hadn't been any. You don't meet many women at hobo railroad camps, and I was a bit too. I could even buy a car. “Well…” “How about we start next Saturday, say noon to six?” “Okay,” I said. “And come a little early so I can get some of that young pussy.” I didn’t say anything to that, but it was like the icing on the cake. I really wanted to feel that fat hunk of meat stretching out my pussy. When I was leaving the store I noticed the sketch of me was no longer in the window. I turned around and said to his wife, “Oh, thank you for taking it out of the window. I really appreciate. More

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