Chapter 16

Lena’s turn:

I’m from Louisiana, you know. We have this word – Lagniappe. If you say ‘lawn-YOP’ you’ll be close enough for most people. Roughly translated, it means ‘a little something extra’, like ‘baker’s dozen’.

So I married Jay. We worked together, one major project, I learned a little bit of the business having to do with documentation, tracking all the bits of paper that go along with a facility from ‘We’d like to have this facility’ to “Here’re the keys. Have fun!” And I did it well enough to where the management wants me to show up for another project, along with Jay, naturally.

He’ll engineer. I’ll stack paper. Two pretty decent incomes, actually, a lot of which went into the bank, where ‘bank’ is a loose term for one financial institution that will take our money, ‘X’ and later return us ‘X+something’, thereby guaranteeing a comfortable future.

So where’s the lagniappe? Good question. With his dad’s passing Jay ended up with this piece of land up here in central Louisiana, a nondescript few acres encompassing an old homestead on a hilltop. The place was run-down – collapsed outbuildings, house long gone. The land’s leased to a guy who runs a few cattle, so it’s got a little bit of electricity for a well because cattle need water.

We towed an almost new travel trailer onto the property with the intent of cleaning the place up for a home site, the actual house to be built sometime in the future.

Jay rented us a tractor, one of those pretty good sized things like we had around the construction site, with a front end loader bucket on one end and a backhoe on the other. I thought that he’d operate it while I did things on the ground but that wasn’t HIS plan.

“The real work’s on the ground. Requires muscle. You run this thing.”

I guess I could have played my ‘scared little girl’ card but I haven’t ever done that with Jay before, so he showed me and I learned.

We were doing a fantastic job clearing the old buildings. Jay had us piling these big timbers from the original framing into neat piles. He says there’s a market for this stuff. The rest we pushed into a pile and burned.

Our days ended with an outdoor shower. We have privacy. You cannot see our hilltop site from the nearby public road. At first the cold water from the site’s deep well was a shock, but now we’re used to it and frankly I found that being naked outdoors with Jay is quite a treat in itself.

We kept at our task, slowly reducing the rubble, clearing, cleaning up.

We dragged the ridgepole out of the biggest pile of rubble. Most likely it was the original homestead’s barn. There was a date carved into it, 1854, dating that timber back to pre-Civil War. There were some big, long timbers. Jay says those are valuable. I take his word for it. Jay knows a lot of things.

We were down to the dirt, as Jay puts it, cleaning up a raised floor. I’ve gotten pretty good with the bucket of that backhoe. I had just scraped back a bunch of rotted floorboards, shoving them aside, leveling the dirt below them. We both noticed a discoloration in the dirt we moved. Then the bucket hit something with an audible clunk.

Lagniappe. Buried treasure. All we lacked was a big ‘X’ to mark the spot. The strongbox was iron, encased in a thick coating of rust and dirt, but we managed to get it open. Gold. A little something extra to go with this little country hilltop.

By the time I got back from town with a stack of plastic tubs, Jay had the coins washed and stacked. We spent the evening cataloging them. Jay knows a little bit about how these things are valued. All I knew was that gold was gold and it’s twelve hundred dollars an ounce and we have a bunch of it.

A few days later we’re sitting in this coin broker’s office and he’s looking at ONE coin and telling us ‘Ninety thousand dollars’.

Jay and I treated ourselves to some REALLY good steaks that night.

That night we were back in the hotel, a mid-range one we’d selected on trips before, and we’re naked and my head’s on his chest, listening to his heart and his breathing.

“Jay, it was never about money, you know...”

He stroked my hair. It’s a mess, okay, although I brushed after the shower, we’ve had some wonderful and energetic love-making and my hair’s a mess. Jay doesn’t care. His fingertips are gently re-arranging it. “I never thought it was, Lena. You’re priceless, anyway. Couldn’t afford you if I had to pay for what you mean to me.”

“I feel the same way, you know...” Sometimes I just run out of words to describe us. “But now ... Millions, Jay.”

“I know. I’m not sure how much, or what we do, but...”

“But if we invest...”

“Yeah, if we invest, we can get a pretty nice chunk every month and not touch the principal.”

“Enough to almost not work,” I said.

“Yeah, we could build our house there on the hill and never have to work again. I’m thinking, though...”

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said.

“What am I thinking?”

“I’ve seen you at work. I know it doesn’t happen a hundred percent of the time, but you LIKE what you do.”

“I do,” he admitted. “And I think that you did, too.”

“Was kinda fun. People, responsibility, scenery...”

“Soooo,” he said, “we could pick a project every year or so, work, bank the money, and when we’re not working, we hitch up that travel trailer and we go places and LIVE there on our schedule, not somebody’ else’s.”

“That lady in Chattanooga said we really needed to see autumn in the Smokies. We could find a little RV park, stay there for the leaves to change. They don’t do that at home.” I remember seeing bits of that. In Louisiana where I’m from, they just turn brown and fall down. I saw things I’d only seen in pictures when I went with Jay to Missouri. He spoiled me.

“We can do that, honey-bunny,” he said.

When he calls me pet names, I’m a goner. I don’t have MUCH self-restraint when we’re naked in bed anyway, and he knows it. The only saving grace is that it’s very hard to take advantage of a girl who’s craving it. It’s so simple, too. I just ease my head up from his chest and plant my lips on his. He reads kisses. This one’s a ‘one more time’ kiss.

“I’ve never made love to a millionaire,” I said afterward.

“Honey-bunny,” he smiled, “You never made love with anybody but me. I remember the evidence.”

“True. And I won’t change that. You ‘n’ me. Partners.”

“Yes, we are.” I touched his chest. I do believe that the last couple of weeks of physical labor had tautened him up a bit, no that there was anything wrong before. “You’re a good-looking guy, Jay.”

“Thank you. You’re a doll yourself.”

“I didn’t marry for the sex, either, baby, but just WOW!”

“I know. I’m almost paralyzed.”

Happily married. That was before. Now we’re happily married and in possession of a few million dollars. Between that and sexual satisfaction, one can go to sleep with a smile.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Jay and I had rolled in opposite directions, so I was facing away from him and I’m half awake and I find that empty arms are not to my liking. Happily, my Jay is a snuggler, so I don’t think I’m putting him out when I roll back toward him and fit myself behind his warm body.

It works. He wiggles back against me for a second, then rolls over, wrapping me into his embrace.

Sleep? I have hands. One of them is sort of drawn downward. It’s soft, a comforting feeling to me that I share this most private of things with him. My fingers curl, feeling, then uncurl, and I push my hand lower, cupping. I’m eternally fascinated by his balls. I know he likes that. I gently cup them, tug a little, snuggle into him. I feel his breath on my head. He’s half awake, breathing me into him.

It’s times like this that I wish I could be several places at once. I wish I could kiss him and suck him and get eaten and gosh ... I’ve managed to talk myself into a bit of arousal.

When we were working on the project, we found that these little interludes in the middle of a worknight were very nice, but both of us had long, draggy days the next day. I’m thinking right now, though, that there’s absolutely NO reason not to ... slide right down and take advantage of a rare event, Jay naked and soft.

Soft, he almost fits into my mouth, warm, chewy, a little tasty from that last bounce before we went to sleep. It doesn’t stay soft for long, though, and I feel a hand touching my head, feel an “Mmmmm” resonate through his body, his moan of pleasure and approval. I add my own reprise.

I know what I’d like right now. Let’s see if he’s game. I’m already half sideways on the bed. I could go either way, but I keep him in my mouth, working my pussy towards his face.

Oh yeah ... He’s good for it. “Mmmmmm. You’re delicious.”

I had to learn that. When we started, I was apprehensive about my personal hygiene there, especially since Jay really does seem to like eating me. Now I just let him. No sense in worrying about it at all. The only worry is that I have HIM in my mouth and if he gets me going good, I lose control of everything, just barely able to keep from biting that living, loving piece of meat in my mouth.

I know I’m good for a couple more climaxes. I wonder if Jay’s had time to recharge. Doesn’t matter to me. I love doing this with him. He loves the way I do it, too, because I feel HIM lose control a time or two, and ultimately, his hips take an insistent motion. I know that if I don’t put my hand around this thing he might push it into my mouth too far and right now is NOT the time to be coughing and gagging.