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Posted:Jun 23, 2015 1:48 am
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm
Check out Moses and Curio (my series) and my sexy poetry book The Breathless Cravings. Available online anywhere books are sold.
Sunday Worship
Posted:Mar 19, 2014 2:46 am
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm

In our bed,
our sweaty church of mortal veneration and passion of the vice,
I wish to pray to your body
in a manner befitting the goddess that is you.
The sensual idolatry, our wicked laymen’s lust
lavished upon our body and souls alike,
should be a ceremony in which this humble devotee to you
performs his hard miracles, the seductive salvation,
regaling his goddess with feats of power
eternally lauded in her impassioned psalms.

Such pleasures abound in the tantric worship of your abiding flesh!
Indeed it should be I that begs you to allow me the glory
of the slightest taste of your erogenous nectar,
of even the most fleeting feel of the budding nipples on my revering tongue,
of the moaning shudder felt low in your miraculous womb,
of the gratification seen in the smiling eyes of my beloved divine body,
of your voice repeatedly reflecting the throbbing, moist affairs deep within you high in my ear,
of your loving embrace unceasingly enticing me into pleasing you further.
Your mere kiss is proof of a higher power whose hot effects are a reminder of hell-
hell being a naked moment without you to infinitesimally woo and delight.

Yet it is you that who lies prostrate between my muscled thighs!
Savoring my prominent pillar of our shared ecstasy, your kiss entices it to reach toward heaven.
Oh, such a hearty worshiper! Thy own tongue’s pious devotional so overwhelms its idol,
deigning to me my halting raptures, delivering its wonderful offerings in lapping opulence.
And it is I whose cries are of a pitch ungodly
yet apt in lieu of the pleasures recited by the spirited tongue.
Giver of life yourself, you falter not to take on my own rough existence inside you.
And you have me. All of me.
Joined in an eternal bond of soul and flesh ascending into clenched-toed glory.
The hottest communion with my body, offered, extracted…so ethereally accepted!
Yes my lover, you have me in total submission to your higher power!
And glory be to your erotic gifts, surely sent from heaven.
Let's, So...
Posted:Mar 18, 2014 11:19 pm
Last Updated:Mar 19, 2014 12:31 pm

Let’s, So…

Let’s make the heralded night a mark in a sensual registry
So written is the call to endear two wanton souls with yearning bliss.
Let’s make eyes of love as two distinct souls in a crowd of blurry passersby
So finally transfixing is our discovered proximity after a life of wander.
Let’s make for an elevator, the closed box holding our beings for safekeeping
So we may be so unsafe when it leaves us to our own naked devices.
Let’s take the time to touch tangibly sweaty skin stripped of cover
So affecting upon our minds is the sheer scale of the nerves alighted by touch.
Let’s move slow to savor the senses’ scintillation, bringing hot minds their fuel
So internal boilers gather the steam needed to move us beyond you and I.
Let’s make the painted walls shake our neighbor’s bodies
So torrid the press of our simple lips, shattering our barriers.
Let’s make the cotton comforter fly away unneeded
So infernal our bodies’ friction, drives away the cold December rime.
Let’s make them ring the forgotten phone.
So illicit our uttered experience beheld in our inhaling ears.
Let’s make them pound the door
So adamant our shared affections resound.
Let’s make them call the cops
So savage should be our penetrating cries of pleasure.
Let’s make them pry us apart and take us away
So that the whole escape from the pure world is never forgotten.
My Erotic Continental
Posted:Sep 27, 2012 2:15 pm
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm

I rise and shine to you,
my taste of sexy honey.
Savoring that sweet sugar
tasted gently, nibbled harsh
on the side of your neck.
My lips feel
the burgeoning day’s pounding
of heartbeats that nourish my soul
along with your body.
Nibbles below that cute ear
attuned to my whispered affections
stir up a yawning giggle,
a lovely smile and sigh .
And in your naked hips,
my lips bring an inviting wiggle.
That gloriously building shimmy yielding
my breakfast, your luscious juicy fruit.
Now your awakened
nipples beg
for attention and dare I say
their pleas will not go unheeded
this sunny morning
nor any other, my love.
Hands awake and clasp.
Lips now savor the tongues’ tips.
Eyes wide open and pouring
mere lust and adoration
into a gaze we never should be without before
A hushed pant and moaning sigh
moves apart the silky thighs.
Now your sexy navel gets its kiss.
Slowly down the naughty path,
my lips and eyes so lightly drag.
Soon enough my tongue has found
that sweet taste of your feminine bliss.
my books
Posted:Jul 22, 2012 3:25 pm
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm

google Moses and Curio!
Primal Needs
Posted:Jul 16, 2012 1:19 pm
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm

With the fading of the harsh day’s light,
the hungry bodies are grumbling,
growling, biting, clawing at clothes.
Demanding their needs be fed.
Nasty we tussle, my mate, my conqueror, my lady in waiting heat.

Horny rutting under the hunting moon,
wild thrashes the safety net of the silken sheets cannot contain.
Loveless almost, feral, the primal calling heeded,
the carnal act bonds us as inexorably
as any civilized ring’s golden promises.

Against the squeaking protests of the bed,
we bare our teeth to each other’s flesh.
The feast of plenty, ravenous, ripping.
Our bodies’ sweat conjoined to the brine of passion,
the taste of which we savor repeatedly,
after our deliberate mouths have brought the blood to rise,
bringing both
the scintillating shudders from the man,
and the purrs of fulfillment from his panting queen.

The sensual carcass of innocent wonder is lost to the feel
of hunger panes satiated through hungry pain.
Together we coil in our mattress den
as the ritual climaxes have had their primal call answered,
gasping in the rut-scented air.
The taste of completion in the room is pungent.
Our territories marked, mutual dominance asserted.

We've mated.
At Midnight
Posted:Jul 16, 2012 1:17 pm
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm

Tingling and throbbing, the muscles within us yearn…
For the give and take of motions-
the scintillation of the eye's white
under the spell of the fervent crescendo, the trembling ebb,
the initial full-fillment of the hardness pushed to its hilt.
The arms held tightly around the chests we both love to caress,
entwined to keep tight the memory closest to the pounding hearts.
Deliberate and enticing, your dainty foot skims up my calf.
Soft toes and sharp nails point upward and I arise with them,
under early morning sheets that unhappily shielded me alone and away
from the world where you exist.
Gleeful is the feel of those soft, small hands slipping my lonely sheets back.
The delectably full lips breaking the ice of my dreams-
dancing their way in sexy harsh nibbles of my neck to my mouth.
Eyes behold your curvy silhouette that brings illumination to the darkened room.
Your soul’s effervescence, beckoning sunlight, so bright it brings heat to my skin.
Flushed with want, I close my eyes to let the other senses run amok in your presence.
Sensory overload, glandular enticement, internal ecstasy,
immodest adoration of your every inch of kissable flesh.
5 Jul 1863
Posted:Aug 24, 2011 11:08 am
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm

5 Jul 1863

Dear Madam,

It is with a profoundly dour heart and soul that I write this letter. I must extend my personal and deepest condolences, for your beloved Captain Daniel F. Beauregard, has been struck down on the field of battle near Gettysburg. He fought with a valiance that awed his men and impressed his superiors on countless occasions. Always leading from the front, he and his trusted , Jake, were cut down in Colonel Pickett’s desperate assault against an impregnable position. His solemn death was not instantly rendered. I am hesitant to share with you that fact but I would be devoid of duty to his memory to obscure from you his final desperate moments. He insisted with his dying breath that I, who has been a trusted friend in these two years of unceasing war for our vaunted Southern salvation, tender to you the last note written by a hand etching his longing heart’s scribe in subtle ink for you. Only when I gave him my word of honor that I would indeed see his last post delivered and his final devotional to you revealed did he wilt and then perish.
I have enclosed this, his final dispatch, as he asked me. Let me state as an officer and a Southern gentleman of Virginia I witnessed, while at his side as he succumbed, the confirmation that in the end his thoughts were of his treasured state of Louisiana and his beloved Andrea.
He spoke of you agreeably many times. I can say without deception that his thoughts these last few months have been only of you, his home, and the needs of his gallant soldiers. We spoke at length of your great beauty and kind soul, of your grace, your dignity and passions that kept him remorseful that the war could have, and now has, halted him from ever savoring again the sweet countenance of your existence. This he told me to tell you in the midst of our darkest hour on the battlefield, the final campaign which has claimed him amongst its martyrs.
I feel it fitting to note that our grand Confederate Army of the Potomac was defeated massively on the day he fell to the withering Yankee fire. A defeat on such a great scale compares, to me only perhaps, with the personal sadness with which a man so devoted and wanting of you is struck down heroically, never to have that passion requited again.
Our great nation’s army is now on the run. I hear news that on the day of our defeat, the Yankee tyrant Grant has been successful in the siege of the river city of Vicksburg as well. The war is on all fronts, lost, but we shall fight on to keep them from our homes and out great women of virtue such as yourself. Till our last breath is expended, our final musket ball is fired and bayonet broken into splinters from the effort, I swear that women of your dignity and of your Southern virtues shall never be subjected to Yankee rule so long as we can fight.
I have enclosed Daniel’s last letter to you, taken from his pocket on the bloody Pennsylvania meadow on which he succumbed. I have also enclosed a lock of his hair so that you may have something tangible to hold sacred his memory. I again extend my condolences for your bereavement and wish you all the best in the life God grants you to live. Long live the Confederacy.

Sincerely yours in shared sorrow,

Edwin D. Williams
Major, 3rd Cavalry, CSA

1 July 1863

My dearest and beautiful Andrea,

It buoyed my exhausted heart to receive your kind letter this morning. The days here of late have been so fraught with battle after battle. For several weeks now we have closed on the enemy at great cost to life and material, but our spirits are high all the same, as we are licking Lincoln’s bluecoats wherever he stands and fights. I must confess though, we are all so tired of the death and the loneliness, tired of being so far away from those we love and miss. To receive your kind words and smell your scent on those cherished pages gives me hope that someday all of this carnage shall end with our victory and peace renewed. Then, God willing, I shall once again return to your arms and enamored bed.
The thought of our last tendered romances I have held dear within me all these long months since that enchanted night we last saw each other in Charleston. It is a torment as well as a guiding star. Knowing that such pleasures can be known to me, that such a lips’ delicious taste as yours exists is maddening as I sit here filthy and exhausted in our ramparts, so far from those lips’ existence. Yet they call me to duty as we thrust forward into Pennsylvania toward victory, God willing, and our finest hours of glory. To know that I fight for Dixie and for the right to return honorably to you once again sends me forward with a vim and vigor that I must admit some of my contemporaries and even my heroic soldiers must certainly deem foolhardy. But having sampled the scent of your skin, to have pressed my lips to yours, felt your arms around me and known that glorious swoon and surge that you have brought within me gives me the hot flash of blood in my very soul, leaving me with the want to do my utmost to win this war hastily and completely…so that I may return unharmed and soonest to you.
Sweet Andrea, oh from the Lord Almighty you must surely have been sent! I ride Jake into the grinding teeth of hell’s blistering cannons every month. I see good men, some just mere boys, fall to the sabers and cannon of our hated foe by hundreds. You cannot imagine the carnage I have witnessed these last few years on the field of battle and I implore you not to try to do so. I am numbed to all I have thus experienced, as all good soldiers must so be sturdied lest they wilt in the face of the enemy. But still, I see the toll of our certain victory. And that toll is so high it is ghastly.
The warm thought of you and I, safe in our bed chamber that glorious night, almost a year ago as I write this, convinces me that I have suffered already hell in its utmost fury. For so torturous it is for me to be far from your exalted presence, it must surely mean I died already the instant I parted from your finger’s touch. Desiring you as I do and having no means to return to you without disgrace and consequence is a hell in itself. It surely must be hell, for there are no angels such as you here, only the anguished, the unyielding sounds and sights of war, and the many, many miles of weary marching in a wrong direction…one that separates me so much further daily from your graces and beauty.
Alas, I hope you carry within your breast a mere particle of the savored memory I have trembling within mine own heart of our tender caresses. In my mind at its calmest and light, I still see you, so lively and enchanting amongst the gardenias and dahlias lining the streets of Charleston on that blessed June weekend. Damn this war for not allowing us more time of blissfully strolling the streets under those blue Atlantic skies! I see those wonderful eyes in my dreams, alight in the glint of the sun that shines still on that fort which flies our colors to this day.
It is one of the most glorious days I can recall. To see our flag fly over free Southern soil, liberated by my uncle General Pierre Beauregard I am all too proud to say, to taste the salt air over a beautiful parcel of Dixie with that exalted beauty that is you, Dear Andrea. My gorgeous lady’s tender grasp on my ebullient arm shall surely be the pinnacle of my life should I fall to the whim of the enemy.
It was a definitive day for me, and, I dare hope and pray, for us. That it led to the dreamy and feverish night that followed only encapsulates the memory in a pouch of my very soul seared shut by the heat of our bodies and only to be reopened by the heat of your breast’s fevered heartbeat pressed against my cheek once again.
I recall our heads light with wine as we dined on that delicious shrimp and grits. Do you recall that Gullah negress tying your hair in those bows of ribbon? I do succinctly, for I recall them falling from your long tresses upon me as you lingered over me, conjoined in the throes of passion, quivering within. I bade you to your room after we had supped lest I press the matter I felt pounding within me past the point of chivalry and hopelessly into the ribald carnality that ravaged my sense of honor.
But gloriously came that rapping upon my door. I knew it was you! I could hear your breathing, rapturous, enthralling and stirring, through the wooden walls, that low moan of building rhythms that I knew to be more than mere sighs of longing. Then finally, the creaking of your mattress ceased and I heard your feet on the floor.
The door opened and then came that luxurious sound that filled me with such an ebullient glee I confess I forgot any notions I may have had of maintaining a modicum of modesty or piety. Any such conception flew asunder, blasted apart by those sweet, feminine at my door in the waning hours of daylight.
I had already put out the candles and there I lay in the cool breeze the Good Lord so rapturously sent through the balcony doors thrown open to let that bay breeze cool my sweating skin. The stiffness beneath my trousers you brought forth with those sounds of lust, even though stifled by the walls between us, but audible and glorious in their feverish pitch, was such that I found those trousers impossibly discomforting. Thus I lay nude, blushing as I covered my excitement beneath the heavy sheets as the came softy at my door.
In the dim light of the streetlights only just then lighted by the city, my fair maiden, my heart-pounding muse, beloved Andrea, entered my boarding room. I sit here at my desk in the officer’s planning tent and can see you as clear as I see my friend Major Williams cleaning his revolver on his bunk a scant few yards away. You in your heavy gown, supple and full, those tiny bare feet taking halting steps toward me. And in that light I could see you had taken your hair down.
Oh my sweet dearest Andrea! Just to feel that soft hair between my fingers would be such a delicacy once again! But to feel it fall loosely in my face as you leaned over me to kiss me without a word spoken as you came to me from that doorway…if I should feel those magnificent tresses ever again in such a manner I would so fervently commend my Lord and Savior the Pope himself would sanctify even this lowly Gentile I surely believe!
Oh those minutes of slow kisses shared as we trembled, unsure of what to do further. My courage in battle has never faltered or been questioned. My bravado amongst my peers during my youth was legendary in our parish. Yet aside from meeting lips with lips and eyes with eyes, any testaments to my sagacious audacity were laughable in the face of my beloved. Maddening! There was but one brave piece of me and it was hidden. Then to feel your hands caress my chest, to kiss my hardened nipples in such a manner that brought a hot, rich flush to my face that seemed to speed around every hair of my skin…sheer bliss. So yielding, so soft were your hands and mouth. My body had never known such a thing as that delicate tingling of my nerves was possible. The nerves all firing at once already, you sent everything into a frenzy that much monumentally further with the peeling away of the sheets from my body. I see your smile now as plainly as I see my hands shaking as I write.
You caressed my cock with those soft hands, with those dainty fingers so delightfully foreign compared to my own hand’s rough and private handlings when happily hidden in the rare privy we encounter as we march north. Never before had a rising of such rigidity been aroused and never since. Your admission to unnatural caresses of your own maidenhead as you did so touch me only tempted me that much further. My dander was rising with delicate hug of those fingers around my noble essence. Fearing the humor’s sinful waste of which the church chastises us, I sat up to take your mouth to my own. When those soft hands that raised me so fully pushed me bodily back onto the springs, I admit to surprise at your impetuousness. But the enjoyable feel of you worshipping my hardness with kisses upon its entire length and girth were so beyond the scope of my known realm of bodily pleasures. Such succulence and warmth, the raw wetness and wrapping of the tongue along its tip after you pulled the encasement back away from its head was almost unbearably pleasurable. It was a breakthrough for me as a man, an unimaginable path to loving glory I suspect few men have ever had the pleasure of savoring at any time in our civilization’s history. The rampant suckle of that mouth, dear Andrea, I can see your face enraptured as you drew me into your mouth, the inadvertent eruption of my loins catching us both unawares. My cries, sharp and almost frightened as I released, startled you and you almost leapt backward thinking you harmed me. Partly because of hearing the calamities that befall a man who does not purge his emissions fully and thus render himself an invalid due to the souring of the milk within and partly due to the overwhelming ecstasy the spasms from within the wild cock now passed upon me. I reached forward without decorum or modesty and massaged the prick further. Your continuing efforts as you gathered yourself and reasserted yourself to the task of emptying the veins within my ebbing prick with fresh ministrations of your mouth brought forth such a joyous prickling of my quivering nerves I confess I ground my fingers into the mattress springs and dug my toes in to the point of twinge as well.
The effect was maddening! You have no idea how the memory such a enlightening teaching of the extent possible of one’s carnality has driven me to fearless closure with our enemies in the pursuit of a rapid cessation to the war. My love, I have charged cannons knowingly firing that horrid canister shot aimed at my officer’s insignia with only the memory of that glory as my battle’s bugle.
Though my eruption seemed to deter the rigidity of my prick, seeing you slide those straps of your silken gown over those smooth soft shoulders and having the gown fall in slow thirds of your body to your feet called the matter back to attention yet again. I have never seen such a precious gem so polished by angels as you in the dim light of a South Carolina inn with pleasure in spates of equal shudders and surgings like warming liquor throughout my every bone and pore. Breasts large with those round nipples taunt, kissed by a fresh breeze that I felt on the damp cock as it passed me to caress you. To see those full netherlips, framed in your thigh’s wool bedding yet sends me now racing to the dealing of death to our enemies, in as great a number as my troops may inflict.
I dedicated myself to your pleasure the moment I saw your body unencumbered by folds of cotton and instead exposed to my caress and kiss. Not wizened in the means of projecting myself within a woman in such a manner that she should find pleasurable, I nonetheless knew enough to allow you to mount me in such a manner that the full measure of my flesh’s devotion to satiating your own as thoroughly and even beyond that divinely measured bliss I felt would be successful. Your womb was a haven from all of the ire of the world. A hundred nights have I dreamt of such a place of paradise for me to find and know without debate. Such a paradise shall never be known to me except when comes that longed for and I pray, eventual, day I find myself within the reach of your flesh again.
Seeing you astride me, hair swaying as your hops grew feverish. Breasts swaying until you bade me to grip them and massage them, which brought forth a wet feeling around my cock that was palpably beyond the moistness felt when I first savored inside you. The sight of sweat gleaming on you, the clenched teeth released into low pants of fierce tambour that I could never cease lusting to hear. And the clench of that womb! Like a sensual fist that pumped me from within, not unlike the private massages I admit I find myself engaged in when the privacy allows, but found instead within you gloriously and not hidden to myself when the matter can be attended to in a clandestine spell.
That glorious shudder! That look of pinnacle attained! Glory be to God for that exultation I conjure when I recall you locking mid-hop, pausing in a scream that degraded into a shuddering spasm that shook your body all over. I felt that silken wet fist within you opening and closing rapidly, your hops, before rhythmic and all encompassing of my member, then cut short into slight, twitching dances of your hips. Each miniscule motion brought a further rocking of your body and tensing before you collapsed forward into my eager embrace, mixing sweat and kisses that could scarcely be corralled into a mere conjoining of our mouths. Soon enough, the bed began to creak again as we found that rhythm still attainable and agreeable.
I could have observed that look of climax rise to your brow repeatedly and forever. I managed to see it but four more times before yet again I felt the seed, refreshed by the pump of your tight womb, begin to well inside me. Perhaps you sensed it, perhaps you were far more sensible than I, but as the spasms and cries of rapture again overtook me, you had the good sagacity to thrash on my prick with those wonderful squeezings to fully purge me of the ejaculations. Such a thing is a splendor I shall not forget. To feel you accept my flowings, to get full-filled and empty me into your body as a token of our mutual affections had a keen effect upon me. The prick now withdrew and shied away, its firm reason culminated. Then there was only that naked us, spent, sweating and cozy beneath the quiet roof in South Carolina…so far removed from the dripping canvas tent I huddle beneath here in the hostile area of Pennsylvania I question whether I am truly yet unknowingly dead or merely daydreaming.
That soothing slumber that followed…scarce has come a more amorous cuddling between lovers. I could have smelled your soft hair as your cheek lay against my chest for eternity. That skin, soft and smooth and lavished upon with my kisses pressed against mine as we slept is a recollection of glory I shall dream of all my days remaining on earth.
Oh the agony of our parting! I curse the enemy and swing my saber with an unbridled ferocity as I recall they are the cause of your tears as I parted ways with you to return to duty.
Do you love me, Daniel? You asked.
And how could I not scream the affirmative reply from the highest mountaintop? Dear beloved Andrea, goddess and queen of my beating heart’s domain! Yours is the voice that soothes the sound of the dying and quells the roar of the guns nightly from my ears as they yet ring from the thunder of the day’s tumult as I retire lest the clamor of the bloody day’s events haunt my dreams. Yours is the voice that calls me to duty, to perform my missions to the best and beyond my abilities. Yours was the one voice I heard in my ear as you found me a firm fit within you and the only voice I ever care to hear in such a luxuriant tenor for the rest of my life.
Of course I love you. I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you!
You are the reason I rise to the fore. Any less and my courage may swoon in the face of war. To be without that knowledge of your mutual affections uttered as we parted that last time in Charleston may have dealt me a far greater injury than the enemy dare dream of landing. To find your heart in my hand and mine in yours gives me the strength to endure, for I know one day this war shall cease and out lives together shall begin in earnest upon my return to my beautiful Andrea.
The battle is now being carried to the enemy in his territory. With the Benevolence of God Almighty, the brilliance of General Lee and the audacious tact of General Pickett, I reckon fully we shall carry the day and route Lincoln’s invasion of our proud land. It is our hope that we can defeat enough of these damnable Bluecoats to cause Grant to end his deplorable siege of our Mississippi town of Vicksburg and be sent here to engage us. If the noble Forrest can interdict Grant long enough for us to carry this area without his intrusion, it is hoped we shall march to and capture New York and Washington and put both horrible pits of Northern sewage to the torch to pay them back dearly for invading our sovereign land. God grant us the day of complete victory and long live the Confederacy.
And Andrea, may he bring me back to you safe, so that we may marry and bear each other so many more of those intimacies we enjoyed so fervently that kind night.
Should I fall, please know my thoughts were always of you and I wish you should find a suitor capable of the feelings of yearn for your being, that warm, feminine dearth of soul and flesh whose memory I carry into the battles I’ve fought and those yet to be waged. I must sign away now, my love, as the bugle for the officers to muster and plan the day’s charge has sounded. All my Love to you, my Dearest.

Love always and God Bless You,
my Beautiful Andrea,

Daniel Beauregard
Captain, 3rd Cavalry, CSA
Davy and Evie
Posted:Jun 10, 2011 9:41 pm
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm

Davy Stoddard walked into Hoss Harry's Saloon in Cheyenne, Wyoming, pausing at the swinging doors to swallow his fear as subtly as he could muster before he fixed his eyes on the first open bar stool. Trying to affix a swagger in his stride, he made his way through a bevy of tables loaded with various folks whose faces reported their lives like old newsprint. Most of their eyes looked as if they were wanted somewhere for something and glared at him as if he was the instrument of their calling to a docket. A few more jumpy souls dropped their drinks to the table to ready a trigger finger.
Slinging his possessions, trundled into a gunny sack, over his shoulder, His eyes fell to the women sitting with men at tables, fanning themselves and smiling at him automatically. He smiled and looked them over. Hoss Harry’s had a rep.
He was eighteen, slightly built and without a gun. He wore no star on his new gingham shirt and could barely muster a few chin whiskers to make him look any older. The jumpy fellows returned their grips to their glasses.
The other men on the trail up from Abilene had given him the nickname, Milquetoast as a result of his youth and his naivety about the ardors of the long ride driving 70 head of cattle north to the slaughterhouses that would process them into dried jerkstrip and saddle leather, destined for the 7th Cavalry units up in Oregon chasing the elusive Chief Joseph into Canada. It was his first cattle drive, his first time of note away from home and, he had decided after getting paid, his last time.
The route up from Kansas was rough, his cohorts merciless in their chiding and joking at his expense, despite his holding up his end of the job. He was tired, twenty pounds lighter than when he started. But $125 richer. It was the most money he had ever held in his hand in his young life.
The men had particularly ribbed him for not knowing a woman in the Biblical sense. Early on the trail, he got caught trying to diddle with himself under his bedroll and never heard the end of it. Every time he would shy away from the men to water the chaparral, inevitably one of them would catcall to the others about ole Milquetoast firing his gun off and hitting nothing again. Cognizant of the old hands watching him for another such session, he had relented from doing that again. It was a thing he had liked to do very much at home, in the privacy of his room, which he was luckier than many in that he did not share it with a sibling. Now after twenty days of being saddle-sore, poked fun at, worked like a slave, and finally paid in full, he bellied up to the bar and sat there waiting for someone to prod him into what he should do next.
He had never been in a saloon before.
“Boy, I hope your mama sent you with enough of her egg money to pay.” A gruff, heavily bearded man, a behemoth whose face and slight accent gave him away as a Russian from up Alaska way. A couple of mangy drunks next to Davy snickered. He drew in a deep breath and tried his best grown-man’s glare.
“I got at least two pennies from her satchel. That’s more than enough to buy this crumby place and two just like it, ain’t it?” He smiled and tossed a silver dollar on the bar. The barkeep smiled and pointed at him to a fellow to whom he had been talking.
“Ain’t old enough to piss a hole in the ground yet. But he gonna sass me in my own joint.” He chuckled. His name was Peodor but everyone for a hundred miles knew him as Hoss Harry. Wiping his hands on a towel that Davy looked at and reckoned did more harm than good cleaning off those big Russian hands, Hoss sauntered over to him and propped up a giant boot on crate. “We ain’t got no milk and biscuits in here, sonny.”
“That’s great to hear. I was hoping for a rye and some company.” Davy smiled like a man, but inside his boy’s heart pounded. He never had felt so young and out of place. He felt both the casual and the focused gazes of a few dozen patrons prickling on his back. His neck sweated.
“Whiskey and cunny, eh?” Hoss roared. “You sure your mama would allow her baby’s meat to be wiped by another woman? You don’t look much like you’re more than five months out of your nappies, Babyface.”
“I got cash money and a raging case of the needins, barkeep. I done rode up with seventy head from Kansas. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m thirsty and if you got any tainted doves around here, I’m needing a bath with a friend. I like mine with a bosom if you got any. But if you ain’t, just make sure they’re fresh.” Davy glowered, trying to lie to rest any fresh insults upon his manhood. “I don’t need some old roan old enough to be my mama.”
Hoss smiled at the boy’s nuts and pulled up a bottle of Moseby’s. “So be it, young man. You got money, you man enough for me.” He laid a shot glass on the bar.
“Leave that bottle, if you please.” Davy said.
“That’s two more dollars than your one, sonny.” Davy pocketed the dollar and slapped a ten-dollar gold piece on the bar.
“I’ll be taking my bottle to a room, sir.”
“Suit yourself.” Hoss stacked another shot glass in the first one and pushed the bottle and the glasses toward the young man, chuckling along with a few of the other drinkers sitting and watching. “For the night, it’s a fiver.”
Davy slid the gold coin toward Hoss. “Keep the change. Where’s my bunk?”
Hoss pulled a key from a row of keys nailed to the wall behind him. “Number Eight. I’m sending Evie to take care of that bathing for you. You a lucky man she’s free.”
“I thank you.” He snatched up the bottle, key and glasses. “What’s the best place to eat around Cheyenne?”
“Rooming house four streets over. Name of Regina’s. But don’t you be bringing Evie over there. They don’t take kindly to fallen women eating over at Regina’s. Regina likely shoot you for that.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Davy tipped his new Stetson and walked up the stairs. When he was on the other side of the door, he flattened against it, exhaling nervously. For all his bluster, he had never been so scared in his life. Until he realized he had just ordered up a girl for his pleasure. His first time for pleasure. Then, his apprehension turned to sheer giddy panic.
Not knowing what to do, his first thought was to hit the privy. It had been weeks since he saw a proper WC.
When he was finished, he paced around the room, wondering what protocols one took when a woman of leisure was on her way. There was a tub in a parlor room with a wood-burning stove still smoldering from whoever left the room prior. A hand pump was fixed to pour fresh water from a cistern into a giant pail left full on the stove. A sort of pipe-funnel contraption was fixed to the lip of the pail so someone could sit in the tub, push a lever, and let in some hot water by gravity at his want. He put some kindling in the stove and got a flame blown up. Truth be told, he would just as easily been satisfied to sit in a cold bath. The sun was a never-ending menace to him on the trail. Cool was better than hot but he figured hot baths were the norm. Besides, his nerves were wired with all kinds of thoughts about his prick’s appearance to a woman for the first time. More than one, he had come out of a river and found all his manhood shriveled and soaked up in his crotch. It was a curiosity of the loins that he did not understand, but it made him laugh to see. If it were funny for him to see, a woman would definitely laugh. Just as the hands he rode up with had laughed.
When he had the water in the tub near about where he thought was warm enough and deep enough to use, he pored himself a shot of the rye. It burned like hell. But he figured it was normal and poured himself another. Just as the second wave of fiery steadiness hit his craw, a polite knock at the door startled him. He stood still, trying to gauge something of the woman just be replaying the sound of the demure knock. His heart pounded and he felt his loins respond in kind to the rush of blood. Evie, the barkeep had said...her name’s Evie.
“Hello?” He spoke aloud.
“You ask for some company?” The voice was small, dainty.
“Hold on. Be right there, ma’am.” He winced at his tone. Ma’am sounded so much like a young un’s reply. Today, he was a man, not a young un, by God. He took a pull of the rye from the neck and stared at himself in the shaving mirror.
“You’re a man, Davy Stoddard.” He whispered to his reflection. The faded shine of the mirror made him look older. “Be a man.” Sighing deeply to steady his nerves, he wiped his sweating palms repeatedly on his denim pants before he opened the door.
There stood Evie. She was gnawing on a piece of horehound candy. Young, Davy was happy to see. Something about her said…nervous, he thought perhaps.
“Ma’am.” He took off his hat and laid it nervously across his chest. Wondering how obvious his prick was jutting through his pants, he almost covered it with his hat instead.
“Might I come in?” She smiled and threw a hand to her hip as she cocked it to one side. He thought it was contrived. Something she had been taught. He sized her up.
She was clad in a frilly red and black bustier with some black leggings that were cinched to a pair of garters that accentuated her white thighs. She had a self-assured smile but behind it, her brow was sweating. Her bosom was large. Her features were soft. Her voice syrupy sweet. She put rouge on her cheeks and some kohl around her eyes, giving her a tint of color on her otherwise pale face. Soft lips, a winning set of teeth…he was glad for that, and bright, smart eyes that beheld him as he did her for a pregnant instant.
“Yes, please. You Evie?”
“Absolutely.” She walked past him. Her rear cheeks hung delectably from below the fringes of the lacy get-up. Any thoughts he had about hiding his hard pecker were demolished at the sight of those two cheeks. He had never seen an ass before. For that matter, he had never seen anything approaching a get-up like that on a woman, be she ugly or gorgeous as she was.
“You drinking all that yourself?” She pointed demurely at the rye as she sashayed by it.
“Not if I have some help.”
She looked over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose. “No, honey. Me and whiskey ain’t friendly. There’s some tonic water and a glass in that drawer in that chest beside you. That would be fine.” She walked over and pulled back the covers on the bed casually. “Hoss said you might be looking for some company all night?”
“Maybe.” He fumbled about getting some water into a glass, shaking his hands while his heart pounded. Trying to look nonplussed, though, despite his prick pressing a tent in his trousers.
“I like that in a man. You kinda young. First time?” She raked her hair out of her face with a long sensuous finger. “It’s okay if it is. We all got one, you know.”
He debated whether to lie and decided not to do so. “You be my first, ma’am.” He winced as he said ma’am from habit again. Dang it…
“Oh goody! I love that. Means you’re clean. I am, too. Case you’re wondering. I ain’t been at this all that long. For money I mean. I was married, though. He got himself shot about a year ago, so don’t you worry about spoiling another man’s bride. Plenty of men beat you to the punch on that account, of course. But that also means I know what needs to be done and how it should be done.”
“That’s good to hear.” He walked over and handed her the glass, the rye bottle in his other hand.
“My stars! You best calm that feller down a little bit if you want your dollar’s worth, honey.” She patted her hand on his pecker. “What’s your name?”
She gripped his prick through his trousers with her hand and shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Davy.” They both giggled. Her hand was abrupt but felt glorious even in jest.
“We’re gonna have some fun, Davy. Don’t fret. I’m an honest . I ain’t out to cheat you, to rob you or give you less than your money’s worth. You paid Hoss pretty nice so you gonna get real nice from Evie. That sound good?”
“Beyond good. It’s the most awesome words I ever heard.” They were. Uttered so simply and directly from the painted lips of an angel in his opinion. “I would like to have a bath. I done been on the trail up from Kansas. Rinsing off in some snowmelt ain’t really much measure of a bath.”
“You from down Kansas-way?” She took an unfussy draw of the tonic and set it down. Standing up, she offered a laced-gloved hand. “Let’s get that bath drawn.”
“I done got it drawed. I figured you wouldn’t want to as much with me smelling like a cattle drive.” He had smelled the men around him for weeks. He figured if he smelled a tenth as bad as they after weeks on a in the sun, it was impossible for any women to be within the length of the Montana Territory from him. “And I’m from Fort Smith, Arkansas originally.”
“We get you men like that a lot.” She walked him over to the tub. “It’s sweet you was thinking about it though. Most men don’t care about things like that. You’re just adorable!” His prick flinched in rapid jerks at the sound of that. He was embarrassed about it. Davy could almost feel his seed trying to spurt just from the walk fully clothed to the tub.
Evie danced her fingers in the tub, admiringly. “That’s a good temperature.” She opened the stove to check the fire and got another pail heating. Satisfied she had everything in order, she turned to him.
“Well, let’s have a look at you, Mister Davy.” He stood motionless. Never having taken off his clothes in front of a woman before, he suddenly felt paralyzed. His hands nervously covered his erection, which he cursed for not going down even though it needed to be that way to get the jollies done. Evie licked her lips subtly and reached out for him as she sat on the lip of the claw-foot tub.
“I can help you, if you like. That your first trail drive? You don’t strike me as a regular hand.”
“It was. My last, too. I figure there’s gotta be better ways to make a living.”
“Poor thing! I bet you’re worn slap out. It’s a hard life, that driving. Here, come here.” She reached over at his feet and patted her gartered thigh. “Gotta get you outta them heavy boots.”
He shook his head and kicked them off on the floor. “Wouldn’t be right puttin’ some smelly feet next to something so pretty. I done been in the same woolens for a month. Best I keep most of me away from you until I get scrubbed up. Wouldn’t want you to faint.” He chuckled haltingly.
“So sweet! Ain’t you just the sweetest thing!” Evie clasped her hands together and smiled behind her prayer. “Thank you Lord. Handsome and sweet to a ! You was raised right down there in Arkansas. Any more like you down there? I might pick up and move.” He blushed. He did not fancy himself handsome.
She took a few steps and grabbed his shirttail, pulled it from his trousers. Unfastening the two buttons by the throat, she leaned forward and kissed him softly between his two nipples, which were as hard as spur spikes under the white gingham.
“New shirt?” She pulled it over his head and laid her soft hands on his nipples, feeling his chest.
“Yes it is. I figured after being in the same two pairs of clothes, it was time to get some new duds.”
“You’re a very handsome man.” She stroked her hands over his belly. “So young. How old are you?”
“Same as me.” She gave one of his nipples a teasing nip that devolved into a suck and flitter of her pink tongue. He gasped when she slid a hand down his trousers and cupped his balls in her palm, his prick laid against his belly and poking its head from the fabric. “That’s a fine pecker. Make you a proud wife one day, I reckon.” She looked down his pants to examine it with the thoroughness of an auctioneer checking a for defects. “You ain’t been cut, neither. Have to make sure I get that all cleaned up under there for you.”
“Are most men cut?” He noticed some of the hands had their nubbins trimmed at birth but had dared not ask about it.
“You see it more and more now. Of course, I ain’t seen as many as the older women. But they talk, you know?”
“Does it look okay?” He swallowed hard. He had no idea what okay meant.
She smiled at him, amused and flirty-like, and with a quick jerk of her free hand had his trousers at his feet. He flinched in her hand reflexively and stood perfectly still, in shock. He was naked with a hard prick in a woman’s hand. Though inside him was a swagger somewhere brought on by the fact that she was paid for and there was no need for formality or even small talk, the newness, that raw exposure of his sex publicly to a woman held him shy and motionless as a body in rigor mortis.
“It’s a beautiful cock, Davy.” She leaned forward and kissed it smartly, then released it. “Get in the tub and Evie will get you all ready for what must be done to make it smile. Kick out of them pants. I ain’t gonna bite.” He clumsily released the trousers from his snared feet and staggered into the tub. She dumped in some more hot water and fished a bar of lye soap from a cupboard.
“You want another shot of that whiskey, honey?” She called to him as she fetched a towel from beside the bed.
“Sounds good.” He relaxed in the warm water, glad his prick had subsided a spell. He watched her gather up everything and come to him. His eyes beheld her buxom glory as she fixed her gaze on him. She held the shot glass mischievously and stuffed in between her breasts as she leaned over him and paused.
“Better than anything you ever drank from your mama’s. Come get it.” He leaned forward, feeling the soft skin of her breasts on his cheeks as he wrapped his mouth around the glass and tossed it back. Half of the whiskey sloshed on his chin as he gurgled on the hot rye. She laughed and splashed his face with the bath water.
“That’s why I don’t like whiskey. It’s too harsh to swallow in one suck. She rubbed his face softly. “Would you like me to show my titties to you, Davy?”
He nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth in fear of saying something dumb.
“I’m gonna take all this outfit off. But I’m gonna do it real slow for you. Would you like that?”
Again, he nodded. His prick was once again alive. She nodded at it, visible in the suds-free water. “Take your skin back so it can watch, too. I like to think they must just hate sitting in the dark under that skin all the time with nothing so nice as these titties to look at.”
“I think you’re right.”
“I don’t have to take it off if you don’t want me to yet. I just hate to get my clothes wet when I scrub you down.”
“No ma’am. We wouldn’t want that.” He wagered whether to tell her she was the first woman naked he had actually ever seen. He left it unsaid.
She sat on the bed, facing him as she unhooked the fastenings holding the leggings up, leaning forward so her bosom would hang down in her bustier. Staring at him, she rolled the leggings down her thighs and calves, smoothly, well practiced, dainty, and provocative.
“Raise your hips, honey. Let that prick have some air and let it see what it’s been wanting all its life.” He bucked his hips, holding his pecker out so that it periscoped from the water. “Roll that skin back, baby. Let that eye have a gander at these.” She raised her arms above her head with the bottom of the red and black cover in her fists. Her breasts fell from beneath it and there she was, topless and wearing only a hint of red and black bloomers. He gasped at the glory of two dark nipples staring directly at him.
“Be glad you catching these before I done had a or two and I’m still young.” She stood up and let him gaze upon her as he pulled back his foreskin and rubbed his prick delicately. “Us girls with a big pair make a lot more money into an older age than a lot of other girls, but the real money is when we got them where they can look right at a fellow.”
“They’re a sight.”
“Can’t take no credit for them. The Good Lord gives as he will to whoever he chooses.”
She walked over to him, watching his eyes as they feasted on her breasts. She had been with a few first timers in her day. The look was universal from them. She liked that she was the first they had ever seen and would forever remember. It made her tingle down in her cunny, a rarity at work.
“You ever seen a cunt before, Davy?”
His eyes got big. Her lackadaisical inference of a word that his brother had only once uttered in earshot of their mother, and was nearly de-skinned for afterward, was exciting.
“Don’t reckon I have.” Evie smiled at that as she walked slowly to him. When she was within arm’s reach, she stood fast. She rubbed his face with a palm beckoned for his hands.
“Take off my knickers and you will then.” She looked at him as he stared at her nipples and then at her crotch. “It’s a pretty one. I got an old Chinaman barber that I go see that trims my wool up for me. You getting a lucky time. I just went to that Chin last week.” He wondered what she meant by that. His own prick did not have much hair. Another thing the hands had picked on him about. He was a fair-haired blond chap. He would never be very hairy, be he ten or fifty. “Go ahead. I want you to see me. It’s the prettiest thing in this shitpoke town. Of course, I admit to bias.”
“Oh, I believe you.” Davy hooked a thumb under each side and dragged them carefully down her bared thighs. And she wriggled a bit to let her undies fall to the floor as he let the fabric be.
“What do you think? Pretty, eh?” She cocked an eyebrow and spread her legs slightly. She felt moist, the indomitable tingle of excitement in her loins percolating the lather of love. Davy gaped, mouth wide open, at her patch of wispy brown hair that was barely a half-inch high. And there it was, the lips that sent so many to a nightly hitch in heaven and, also, to an early grave on the same night throughout history. Her lips were pink, scarcely protruding from the cut in her groin. To see it there was grand, he wondered about what was so alluring to so odd a place that men killed and pillaged to have access to it for an unfettered few minutes.
“What’s that little nub there?” Davy leaned forward to see better, his chin resting on the tub as he studied, his hand idly stroking his forgotten cock. “That the wife-catcher?”
“Wife-catcher? I never heard it called that before.” She giggled and stepped one leg on the lip of the tub, pulling her mound back toward her belly button with her hand to make her clit stand out.
“My brother said women got a place on them cunnies that you kiss if you want to make a woman be your wife. Otherwise you don’t go near it with your mouth. He called it a wife-catcher.”
“You believe everything your brother says?” She flicked at it with two fingers. It was arousing her to see him so eager to do it and be done with it, but as all first-timers, he was nervous and inquisitive. …And malleable to her whim from time to time…this one was a looker and innocent as the Virgin Mary, she reckoned. A good fare and probably a good toss if she took him under her wing a bit. The cock was agreeable, at least. It still poked its little purple head from the water and leaned toward her.
Like a little divining rod, she thought to herself. Seeking a berth to dig into.
“He’s my older by six years. He seems like he knows a lot about the Biblical things.”
“You don’t have to be with a wife to kiss it, you know. It feels good to a woman to be kissed there. Just like it feels good to be kissed on the pecker.”
“Do you do that? Kiss a pecker? He told me it felt good but it’s a sin.”
“Davy, honey. You paid good money for the sex of a woman to be all yours until your dollar runs out. Now if you want to split hairs about what the good book says about that and compare that with you kissing me on my cunt until I scream your name in vain, you go right ahead. Me, I like to kiss a pecker when they are all clean and pretty like yours. Some men,” She scowled and shook her head, “I wouldn’t dare kiss it for, but we’ll get that little soldier of yours standing at attention so patiently to fire off a lot of ways besides that. And if you’re curious what a cunny tastes like and like me enough to have me go off inside from the feel of you, I’ll be glad to let you.” He nodded, his eyes never leaving the lips and that little bud poking out from the top.
“It looks like it’s smiling at me.” He chuckled, suddenly aware of the rye in his head.
“It will, honey. It will.” She got the soap wet and ground it into a soft chamois cloth. “Stand up so I can get you all clean.” He stood up, suddenly very aware of a tipsiness he did not feel reclined in the water.
“Whiskey hits hard, young fellow.” She started at his knees, grinding the rag across the skin, his prick not six inches from her face. Gruffly, she rinsed and lathered repeatedly, working up his thighs and then to his crotch. With one hand she lifted his scrotum and cleaned under it. Rinsed, she soaped the rag silky-slick with the soap and clasped her hands around it, working slowly, diligently with her hands. She stared up at him in between eyeballing her thoroughness. Paying special attention, she dropped the rag and instead soaped her hands completely. Caressing his cock, she pointed an instructive finger up at him.
“Now look here. You done been diddling with yourself by now, I know.” He opened his mouth and she shushed him. “Don’t deny it. You all do it. Men can’t help themselves. Now, Evie’s gonna show you how it should be done.” She rubbed a soapy palm around the head of his cock, kneading it and gripped his nuts with her other hand. “You may wanna hold onto something. It’s gonna be better than you thought it ever could be.” From just her first few strokes, she could feel him getting harder. A smidgen of juice trickled from it, cutting a clear rut in her sudsy hand as it dribbled across the back of it.
“It won’t take long this time, baby. That’s expected. Happens to old and young alike and don’t you be fretting. But afterward, when we fuck, you’ll be able to do it longer and be able to enjoy a woman as you should.” She began pumping it, her feminine touch so much more precise and pleasurable than his practical and rushed pumps in the privy that always led him to a quick spin-around and spitting it into the scathole when he came, lest his mother see the leavings in his pants and have a conniption.
“That feels so good, Evie. You’re blessed with a graceful hand.”
“Oh honey, you don’t have a clue about how blessed you are about to get.” She felt a thunder in her loins as she felt him under her power. Far too many tricks just came and went. Dirty men fresh from toil, rutting and spewing their seed for a few dollars. Nothing but a tawdry and useless defilement of her body that she would lament in times alone and cry about. Some would hurt her, call her names. Try to choke her when she was paid to kiss their cocks for them. Laugh at her gagging, try to poke her keester, too. But working the young man’s cock in her hands, seeing his adoration, his eagerness and uncertainty, his politeness and soft good looks, she was aroused. And she had all night with him. There was no hurry and no revulsion at the thought and sight of him. And a pretty penny to be made, she figured if she put on a show, she could make a pretty tip that Hoss would not know about.
“Now, you just go off when you get ready you let me know.” Knowing he was at the cusp, she grabbed the big ladle and dipped it full of fresh water. She poured it, cold and clear, across his manhood. He panted as the prick jumped from the sudden chill. Immediately, her mouth was upon it, his member swallowed whole in her soft mouth. Bobbing her head, she felt his reflexive hand on the back of his head as he gaped in fear down at her. She slapped her hand on his on the back of her head, pushing her own head back and forth as she relented slightly so she could slather his prick with her lips and tongue. Pumping him rough with her free hand, lavishing a suckling and licking on his most sensitive of areas, she saw his stomach sink in as he prepared. His breath stopped, legs locked.
“Oh god!” He stammered abruptly, a shudder rocking him from toe to brow. His eyes widened in panic. She felt the penis jump and then spasm. She backed away, letting him see his seed spew its first goblets onto her cheek and breasts before returning her mouth around it, churning his head madly, tasting his salt, knowing he was frozen in the throes, overwhelmed. Without realizing, she had stopped pumping him and was rubbing her own cunny on its rosebud. She was slick, tingly, yearning and as the boy exploded endlessly into her mouth, she tickled herself into an orgasm that took her fiercely in its hold.
Moaning around his cock as it immediately began to go flaccid, she nevertheless kept rolling her tongue around it, getting off further at the look of stunned and overpowered panic in his bulging eyes as he flinched. He nearly fell, grabbing the tub to right himself as he released her head and bit the crook of his arm to avoid screaming. Davy was worried he would scream, “help!” out of panic. At no time during his hurried jerking off had he ever been so totally overwrought with gratification.
Frankly, he didn’t know his prick had it in it.
Evie ceased rubbing her clit, swooning a bit herself as she breathed her bliss down.
“My oh my, that good I take it?” Her face was flushed. His was shocked as he panted and rubbed his shrinking prick in awe.
“I never dreamed it. I mean. I knew it felt good but…”
“Til you been swallowed, you couldn’t know. You see when we go to ruttin’ later. It feels good to spit inside a cunt. But even though a woman can squeeze you inside and make it feel good, when she got a good sucking and licking going, it’s a hard thing to best.”
Davy sat back down in the water, feeling light-headed, airy. Spent. Suddenly he was tired. Evie saw his mood change in a single breath.
“Uh uh. That’s the down side of gettin’ that seed out early. Especially for us women. All your swagger and starch runs out through your peckers when you do that.”
“I’m just…happy. I ain’t sleepy or nothing.”
“Yeah but afterwards you will be. Come on, cowboy.” She retrieved the rag and stepped into the tub motioning him back to his feet. “Gotta give you something to do, because otherwise you’ll get lazy just laying there.”
“I don’t think so.” He stumbled to his feet, noticing how much shorter she was than he for the first time. A good six-inches shorter. With pretty eyes and lips. She reached over and downed the rest of her tonic water.
“Seed leaves a lot to be desired in the taste way.” She lathered up the rag and rewashed his lagging prick.
Laughing and looking up at him, she laid his hands on her breasts. “You ever played with a pair of titties?”
“I have now.” He marveled at her nipples as they stood firm against the big brown areolas. …Like two soft coconuts. He played with them, not really knowing what to do with them but eager to have them in his clutches as she soaped him over. When he was lathered over completely, she coyly pointed at the soapy water.
“Dunk under and count to five so the soap will float off of you.” Closing his eyes, Davy nodded and held his nose as he slinked under the foam. Evie took a step forward and held open her pussy, judging the angle of his resurfacing.
He counted to five and came up slowly, his face grazing up her thigh as he sat up. And then he was staring at her cunny a few inches from his nose. Magnificent in its feminine folds, the little wife-catcher sitting out front, a rosy purple that was the same pallor as his prick’s head when he rolled the skin back. The scent of her climax was in his nostrils, enthralling, new.
“Give it a try. Short of biting it off, you can’t really go wrong down there.” Evie said from above her breasts. He could not see her face, just a belly with a faint line of dark hair that inched inexorably from just above the navel to the fuzz above her cunny. Davy stuck out his tongue as if to touch it to a salt lick and leaned forward. His eyes were closed and he bumped into her clit with his top teeth, the tongue sliding down the slit. It glided across the bared clit as he retreated. She jumped at the electric charge of his soft tongue drug across. After a climax, she was always a bundle of nerves. Davy backed away, eying the target more precisely.
“Just the bud?” He reached out and touched it delicately, like it was thin glass shattered by a bug’s burp. “Or is it all working parts?”
“The bud makes me jump like I just made you jump. It takes a mix of the bud, the lips and the hole to get it right.”
“How do I know if I’m doing it right? I wanna do it right.” He took her hand suddenly. She was reminded of a knight beseeching a queen by the gesture and was aroused that much more. “For you. For what you done, you know. What you done for me.”
“Well now. That’s so nice of you. You just go there and get it figured out as best you can. I’ll let you know what’s working. A little hint, though. The louder you hear a woman get and the wetter you feel, the better it is. Rule of thumb.” She reached down and held her pussy open for him. “Do me, Davy. Make me wet and make me moan.”
Somehow, it worked out. When she screamed his name after coaxing him into a rhythm and away from the helter-skelter licking that he nervously tried out at first, he commenced to sucking her bud and she had sucked him over the brink. He was happily buoyed when it was she whose knees lost their strength and she sat down in the lukewarm water to pant and quiver as he rubbed his callous-free young hands on her nipples.
“So I done good?” His exuberance was intoxicating to her. He was almost like a who learned his first arithmetic.
“You done real good, honey! Whew!” She lay unmoving for a few seconds as he beamed and rocked slightly, giddy.
“I think I’m gonna get out. I’m pruning up in here.” He stood up, his manhood limp but still hanging long as he reached over to get a towel. He threw it around his shoulders and stepped out of the tub, still smiling, triumphant.
“Get you another shot of that rye, Davy.” She watched his prick sway as he wriggled in the towel. She wanted it. “It’s time you found out what the other side is all about.” She stood up, water shiny on her flesh. He put on his Stetson as he walked over and poured up two glasses of rye.
“I don’t drink whiskey, honey. I told you.”
“They’re both for me. After that, I feel like celebrating.”
“Do you smoke?” She covered herself in a towel and walked over to her vanity. For the first time, Davy realized she lived in the room. It was not some parlor of ill repute. Evie looked over her shoulder, wagering whether she should play all her tricks on the young man.
“I smoke some, yeah. Ain’t got no tobacco with me, though.”
“Ever smoke China dust?”
His puzzled look told her no. “That that stuff them railroad chins suck on when they get paid?”
“Some do. The man who trims my wool let me have some with him in his pipe. It’s nifty.” She pulled out a tiny pouch from a pocket of a hanging garment in the vanity. She tossed it on the bed and then laid the towel on the mattress. He admired her nakedness again and downed both shots of rye. Outside, a carriage clamored by, a messenger screaming, “The Army has fired on railroad strikers! Read all about it!” A few gunshots were fired into the air by the mouthpiece for attention.
“What’s it do?” Emboldened, he rubbed the towel across his head and lay naked next to her. She was packing some grainy red powder into a clay pipe as he saw the Chinamen carry.
“Better tried than explained. Kinda like being sucked off.”
He understood what she meant by that. In a few short minutes, he was semi-conscious, aware of her kissing his neck and of him kissing hers. Their words were garbled in their minds, deeply intoned or tinny, far away and inside them. His touch was amplified or detached. Smiles were demonic or cherubic. He sensed her youth. Tasted her essence again while she inhaled his. His prick, swollen by distortion, seemed to be a ravishing magic wand. When he heard her say coherently, “Inside me…” Davy felt his way up her thigh with his hard prick.
He was atop her, hot breathing shared between them, the dragon’s breath she dreamily said. Mouths pressed hard together he found her hole, moistened incredibly more by then than he would have thought possible. She nodded as he mumbled, “Is that it?”
“Do it. Do it well. Do it as you never will again, Davy. And remember this. I suspect you will.”
He thrust, clumsily at an odd angle at first before she helped him with a cock of her thigh to the side and grip of his hip to steer him home. And he was home, savoring the feeling of her around her. Enamored of the pleasure he was bringing to her body. She writhed as she moaned, eyes clenched with tears squeezed free. She suddenly locked up, her eyes black in the fading light, digging her fingernails into his white back, bringing blood as she pressed her pussy against him fully, climaxing undeterred. Without filtering her outbursts, she exclaimed continuously as he fucked her still, a blank look of dopey satisfaction and wonder of how his pecker could render such a young but experienced woman so completely mystifying in her outpouring of ecstasy. She pushed him back suddenly as he felt her juices run down his scrotum. It took her down a notch, for once it was she who was discomfited.
“I’ve never done that. I think I peed from it being so good. That’s a first.”
Davy notched another First in his day. She did not hesitate to reassume a stance for him to enter her. Climbing up on all fours like a beast in the field, she took him in her hand and pressed her small ass against him, working her hips around his prick before he found his rhythm. And then he felt the loading as he had before in the tub and countless times in the privy. That pressure that signaled all was on track for the spit that would send him across that great breach between those who knew a woman and those who did not.
Evie grunted as she accepted his thrusts, wincing when he missed from time to time but eager to be fucked. Her mind was cloudy in all things except the feeling of hard cock within and the eagerness for him to explode inside her. Normally she would not allow a man’s seed inside her for fear of a bastard. Of course, it happened a lot and she had been lucky. Her menses had ceased only two days prior and she weighed that against the simple joy of seeing him fully vetted.
“I’m gonna go off!” His stroked became stifled, uneasy, and delicate though thorough and deep. He was holding himself back. She did not let him. Thrusting her own pelvis back against him and clamping her cunny’s grip upon him, she took what was rightfully hers, urging him through with cries of, “Harder! I’m going to with you!”
Davy felt the rise of his loins. The pressure needing to flow. Suddenly he could feel it spasm, the prick driven home and locked into the deepest pit of pleasure it could find and it stayed, ejaculating fully into Evie as she froze and accepted him. He felt her loins spasm in response to his own, her voice cut short in lieu of frozen moan that belied the complete involvement of her body melding with his. His head was fuzzy, but he swore he heard her scream, “I love you!” into her pillow. While it spurted, he dared not moved. She moved for him, knowing as a woman does that the overwhelming feeling of a tight wet womb accepting the seed is a much a medication for his ego as laudanum for the croup. He collapsed, pressing them into the mattress, still inside her but not moving. His mouth found her neck, his arms pinned under her cupping her breasts.
It was a long minute, (or five? They could not tell under the chin’s dust.) Before either moved or spoke beyond a moan that was answered with a coo in retort. Finally, he parted himself from her, rolling over on his back to sigh and stare at the ceiling.
Evie did not move other than to roll her head slightly to face him as she left her face mostly planted into a sweaty pillow. “And that, Mister Davy, is what a first time should be. I trust it met with your aspirations because it sure as all fire hell met with mine.”
He raised his eyebrows and locked his hands behind his head. Looking down at his prick as it lay half-erect and wet in the light of the fading Wyoming sun through an adjacent window, he nodded in that same acknowledgement that men throughout the ages of procreation had done in the same fashion. It was that look of every first timer when the oddity, the novelty, the fright and the deed was over. The look that said, “I gotta do that again, partner.”
Posted:May 22, 2011 7:44 pm
Last Updated:May 23, 2011 8:53 pm

Gone now are the intimate words
that soothed your leery nerves, but
uttered goose-pimple-close
to private skin shaved smòoth
lit up the nerves silently needing
some dutiful respect lavished
and lingual stimulus
in a language without words.
Words were there at first.
Trivial yet deliberate.
Inciting the exciting.
Whispered under the ear
a scant distance
maybe a tickly hair-length away
before the lips pressed its speech inward.
Hands now clasped together firmly
as words cease,
due to my mouth's newest duty.
I feel you tremble,
two nude souls,
for you, not the norm.
But this to you I say,
before my tongue upon you lays,
be my woman, my oral concubine
endure the bliss overwhelming
By the hour of my tongue's exit
the quivering womb will be satiated
but still empty, wanting, tight.
I the full-on man, now,
have something else for that
It speaks not either.
But to you, it has much to say...
From Strangers We Come
Posted:Apr 19, 2011 7:37 pm
Last Updated:May 20, 2022 2:14 pm

Dance upon me,
o' eager eyes of my awaiting lover.
Pirouette that soft face around my soul
Reflect me in a nervous shucking of our clothes.
Now a mass of wanton fury swirling
tender whelps amidst the lovers' throes.
Started a long time back,
casual chat and naughty glances.
The smiles, the laughs, the slightest touch
of fingertips
now digging their way for support
until the release.
Now the longing for that which
is as of yet unfathomed nor tasted
brings us ardor, yearning.
The kiss not to be keeps the lips moistened, still
lingering the tasted pleasures.
Leaving only hunger, thirst, wetness...
and each other's eyes.
The word finally
dragging your words of doubt to the floor,
where they keep their wadded vigil
kept company with your fallen panties.
“The Blind Date”
Posted:Apr 17, 2011 6:00 am
Last Updated:Nov 7, 2011 10:29 am

The note on the door says, "Come in," as I walk up with a bouquet of flowers tucked firmly under my arm at ten, The late hour of my arrival at your insistence is a puzzlement to me, but it’s Friday and we’re not so old as to be aghast at the notion of being up past Leno just yet.
The door is ajar. Immediately through the crack in the jamb, I can tell the living room is illuminated by flame and not bulbs. My eyes widen as I enter, a sly smile curls the left corner of my mouth instinctively.
Oh my…
Tonight, I will be dining in, my sustenance you.
Your exaggerated hints of Olive Garden and holding hands in the darkness of some chick flick a ruse. Albeit it a sexy ruse, we can get a frickin bellini and a gut-busting bowl of pasta anytime.
I step inside, about to say hello aloud when I see a pair of black heels seated beside each other a few feet inside the threshold. They point away from the door and toward the hall. Two feet away, my eyes gaze upon a sweater, laid flat upon the hardwood, the arms outreaching as if pointing farther down the hall. You have laid them in such a manner on purpose; I grasp this immediately, because the arms of the sweater angle themselves toward a bra pointing long ways.
Laying the bouquet down on the coffee table, I pull a single white lily from the bundle and set it aside. Since the evening promises a pairing, the rationale occurs to me that we should share a similar experience as best a man and a woman can do so possibly. So, I slip off my wingtips and place them toe-to-toe with your stacks, as if we are pressed against each other and invisible, save for our shoes. I unbutton my shirt and wrap it around your sweater, fixing the arms as if yours are around me and one of my hands is beneath the sweater and cupping a breast softly. Around the corner and down the hall, I see sheer black panties, wadded against the wall as if thrown casually aside. Thigh-high stockings have been taken off with care, laid long-ways as if you are doing a split but with the legs pointing to a door on the left. From the door hangs a pleated skirt.
I put the lily to my teeth as I shuck my socks and fold them into each other. My jeans come off as I stand at the precipice of the doorway, underwear for me an item not needed except on special occasions.
Cavalier now, I open the door...
The candles around the room are large with multiple wicks, all alight, casting warmth that seems vibrant and ghostlike. Even in their multitude, the room is slave to the darkness of the hour. A king-sized canopy bed with four enormous mahogany posts dominates the room, full-centered in the room, the first thing I see as I enter. The canopy is sheer, like bug netting but treated with glitter somehow where a million shimmering bits of rainbows catch the fancy of the candles around it.
And there you are, naked, standing upright on the mattress. Motionless, awaiting, blindfolded...I can see instantly, clutching a handlebar bolted to a chain on the ceiling.
There is a black satin fitted-sheet and two black down pillows, but no other bedding.
Chez kink!
The shimmers of the canopy encapsulate you in a sheer veil of multicolored sensuous glory. You do not speak though you are not gagged, you do not beckon me, though your hands are only gripping the bar from the ceiling yet not bound. Your eyes are covered, but your ears are open and I know my entrance is noticed.
You do not know I am naked but you hear my footfalls on the bare wood floor as I circle the bed to an opening in the canopy. Only a slight bite of the corner of your mouth belies your cognizance of my approach. Your breasts rise as your breathing hastens. The nipples stiffen.
I do not speak but know what must be said, for something must be said, as the evening has turned from a mere date to a memory long savored in the years to follow. I step up onto the bed, careful to balance myself and not stumble. Miraculously I make it upright without tearing down the mystique by slipping on the satin and tumbling us both. My hands grip yours as I press my chest against your back, my cock already hardening but not erect against your inner thigh. Daintily I brush the lily's petals up your goose pimpled thighs, making sure I flitter around the lips of your pussy when you part your legs just a few inches as you realize what I am doing. Gripping both of your wrists on the bar with my free hand, my mouth clamps onto the side of your neck, just to the rear of the collarbone in the hollow between the clavicle and the muscle and I suck the skin moist. The lily slowly inches its way to a nipple and dances on the hard nub. My mouth moves up the neck, savoring the light perfume you wear as my mouth nears the ear. The lily is brought to your nose and its feral aroma is inhaled before I let it fall at your feet and wrap both arms around you just below the breast.
"Beautiful." is the only word I say…and the only word heard until a great many hours later, though the night is not without sounds.
Tonight we climb the walls.
Posted:Apr 3, 2011 8:51 pm
Last Updated:Apr 26, 2011 8:05 pm

Started out cautious but deliberate, thorough, wanting to know through our fingertip’s exploration. Over-exuberance means the falling of the hardened body before your own summit is reached. Now, after the initial hike, the slow ascent, slight delay, we're on belay. The moist crevasse did find its penetration firm, the morning's flag raised in honor of its moistening home, and yet planted deeply. Then, and only then, the sounds of shared triumph and the toes clenched, the breathing hard and shallow, we rate the climb a success…

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