)There are no marinas in New Orleans. I know ... we looked ... and then searched and after that ... we hunted. There are NO marinas in New Orleans. No...marinas ... no place to park the Vellamo. With no place to park we have to move on.Coming within paint scrapings of Buttercup, a New Orleans river tug ... and being severely cussed at in the process ... the Captain, top hat and all, leaned out his window ... something THAT big is not a porthole.He spit a huge stream of broadleaf tobacco juice out. Alison did not seem to be as good as Kirsten as she bobbed up and down but it still felt good. They both stopped and Alison moved up to my head, lowering her pussy onto my mouth, I flicked my tongue up and down her outer lips, touching her clit as she relaxed more. Out the corner of my eye, could see Kirsten sitting on a chair near the bed with her legs open but only caressing her breasts. I could now feel Alison's juices dripping down onto my chin and felt her muscles start to try and grip my. By the end of the second day on the road I was coughing up a little blood. While I tried to hide it Elessa's eyes were sharp but there was nothing she could do to help me and she kept her worries and fears to herself. I was already getting worried enough for the both of us.We moved slowly and with extreme caution and we took frequent rests as often as we dared. Contrary to our fears, the large mountain valley we had climbed up into was rich with wild game and we enjoyed a hot meal every. They knew of a couple more who were at home and so we made plans to get together at Spike's Bar & Grill to shoot some pool, toss some darts, sip suds and catch up on what had been going on since leaving high school.It was a good night and I had enjoyed myself. Since I'm not much of a drinker — I'm the kind of guy who will nurse two beers all night long — I ended up as the designated driver. It was almost two in the morning by the time I got home. I used my key to let myself in and when I walked.