Chapter 1

After taking the saddle off my horse, brushing him down, and making sure he was fed, I walked out of the livery, my saddle bags over my shoulder, and my Sharps in my right hand. The big palomino stallion needed a rest as much as me. It had been a bad few years and I’d been sorta forced to help drive this herd of cattle out to the gold fields in South Dakota from Wisconsin.

It was a struggle for me to haul my six foot four frame in a straight line after so many days in the saddle. As I struggled up onto the boardwalk from the street it felt like I’d had the fight, hate, and anger worked out of me. After a night or two in a bed I was going to go home and try to restart my life.

The livery was near to the saloon which was built next to the hotel. Convenient. I needed a drink and about three years of sleep, so I walked into the saloon and up to the bar and ordered a beer from the friendly bartender. I dropped two bits on the counter, took a seat against the wall, and leaned back while I drank and reconnoitered my surroundings.

The first thing of note was that the saloon had a pair of heavy, floor to shoulder height, bat-wing doors that allowed entry to the hotel. The saloon was clean and didn’t seem to be an overly rowdy sort of place. However, in the middle of the place there was a circular formation of tables where men were playing faro or poker. And in the middle of the tables was a caged table, which I assumed was the banker, and, sitting on a riser behind the banker, was a large man with a double barreled shotgun on his lap. On either side of his chair were a pair of shotguns in scabbards. I surmised that this was either a quiet place because of him or a rowdy place that required him.

No one seemed to be the cock of the walk. No one seemed to look like the king of the house. There were several flashy women sitting at a back table watching every man in the place. Bar girls, obviously, since a decent woman wouldn’t be seen walking on the same side of the street as a saloon. None of them looked overly used and all were wearing clothes that were well kept and clean.

I began to think that perhaps I would get an itch or two scratched before I rode out, since I hadn’t been with a woman since ‘the day’. Finishing my beer, I asked the bartender if the bar girls had rooms in the saloon or if they came to a hotel room.

“The girls live and work out back but if they come to your room they go up the back stairs so as to not upset the other guests. Do any of them interest you?”

“All of them interest me! But right now I need some sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”

I waved to him as I left the saloon through the doors to the hotel lobby. At six feet-four inches and one hundred and ninety pounds, I found that I needed to lean into the heavy doors to move them. The hotel lobby was what a city friend of mine would call plush.

The couches and chairs all looked to be overly stuffed, covered in blue velvet, and seemed like you’d sink to the floor if you sat in one. There were paintings of cowboys working herds around the walls and oil lamps with reflectors all around the room. In general, it spoke of high class.

Walking to the front desk, I was greeted in an overly formal manner.

“Good afternoon, Sir. Welcome to the Sapphire Hotel.”

The man sounded a bit haughty.

“Howdy,” I replied in as country a tone as I could muster. “I’d like to get a room for a night or two.”

He looked at me and my dusty clothes.

“Would you like a room with a bath?” He still spoke in a haughty manner, so I continued with my Northern Wisconsin country tone.

“A bath? In a room? Mercy, that sounds good.”

“Yes it should,” he said as if asking for me to smack him with the butt of my rifle.

“If I can ask how do you get the water into the tub? I don’t want to pay for a room and get an empty tub.”

“Sir,” his expression implied that he was speaking to an idiot. “We have a large water tank on the roof. All you do is turn a valve and water flows into the tub.”

“Really? How does the water get in the tank?” I asked trying to tweak his attitude a little.

“We have some boys that we pay to run a pump that moves the water from the creek to the tank. So would you like a room?”

“Yes, I do! With a tub, please.”

“Please sign the register,” he paused before continuing with a tone of snobbery in his voice. “Or make your mark.”

My mother and father always insisted that I be educated and smart. My father told me that going to school made you educated but paying attention to the world you live in makes you smart. I picked up the quill pen and dipped it in the ink well next to the register and signed my name in the neatest, most flowing cursive script I could produce.

The desk clerk turned the register and looked at my signature. His demeanor changed.

“Mr ... is that “Llewelyn”, sir?”

“It is. Mick Llewelyn.”

“That will be $5 dollars, Mr. Llewelyn,” the man requested, sounding a bit less haughty. “And if you have clothes to be washed or boots to be polished just let me know and leave them outside the door. I’ll have them picked up cleaned and returned to you in the morning. That service will be another $2 dollars.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll leave my boots and things outside the door.”

I gave the man a twenty dollar gold piece and told him to hold it in case I had various other expenses. I wasn’t sure if I paid the girls or the hotel for their time. He went through a door with a sign that said “Office” and returned with the key to room 208. I picked up my saddle bags and rifle and walked to the stairs that led up to the rooms. My legs still seemed a little wobbly from the ride.

It wasn’t so much the length of time in the saddle, as much as it was the terrain we’d traveled over and the personal burden I was trying to unload. My horse was a great trail animal and could do a fair job chasing runaways over rough terrain but by the end of the drive I felt like he was about to buck me off and head for greener pasture.

Actually, I was sure of it.

I found room 208 and used the key to unlock the door. The room was the largest I’d ever seen. There was a bed against the wall to the left and a couch and cabinet against the opposite wall. And in the middle, under the window, was a white, porcelain tub. Above it was a pipe extending up through the ceiling.

I set my saddle bags on the floor so as to not get trail dust all over the clean room. I opened the bags and pulled out the makings and my shaving rig. I rolled a cigarette and put the cleaner clothes in the cabinet. I pulled off my boots and set them outside the door. I went to the tub and examined the contraption. There was a rubber stopper on a chain that hung down to a hole in the tubs bottom.

I looked at the pipe and saw the handle on the end. I gave it a turn and water came out and hit the tub bottom and ran right down the hole on the bottom. It took only a second to figure that the stopper was for the hole and I put it in place. The tub began to fill and I began to remove my clothes. I folded the shirt, pants, long johns, and socks and placed them on top of my boots outside the door. I went to the cabinet and even added the clean clothes to the pile. Then I figured, “What the hell” and set my old hat on top of the pile. I’d closed the door before it occurred to me that I’d set my things outside the door while naked. Well, no harm as no one had seen me.

I moved to the tub and was quickly reminded by the faint hoots and clapping that I was standing naked in front of a window facing the street. It took a little time to pull the curtains closed, much to the disappointment of some of the saloon girls standing out on the saloons’ boardwalk.

I stepped into the water. I was expecting it be cold like the river water I usually had to bathe in. Instead it was more like the summer lakes that had the sun shining on them. Not warm and not cold. I lowered myself into the water. Grabbing the sides of the tub for support my left hand found a small shelf between the tub and the window. There was a brick of what had to be soap.

I sat fully on the bottom of the tub and when the water was deep enough I turned the valve to the off position stopping the flow of water before sinking my head under the surface. I held my breath for a bit to be sure that my hair was fully soaked. Then I came up and wiped my eyes.

Standing, I took the soap and began to wash myself. I started on my head and washed my hair and beard before working down to my chest and arms. Then I washed my privates. I took a bit of time because the sensation of the slippery soap gliding along the length of my cock was more enjoyable than the old sock I often used or my bare callused hand.

Looking down at what a few women had declared to be my big cock, I stroked it and thought about how I was going to use it on some of the bar girls over the next couple days. I leaned over and slightly separated the curtains with my free hand to get a peek at the saloon girls on the boardwalk. At the same time I stroked myself faster and more firmly.

One of the women, a red head, suddenly looked up and saw me watching her. She smiled and reached into the top of her dress and pulled out a teat. She squeezed it and twisted the nipple and it only took a few more seconds for me to let loose a load of my seed. I don’t know why but just as I felt that I was about to release, I turned to aim at the space between the curtains and I shot my load onto the window, much to the complete delight of the exposed, red-headed, saloon girl, who applauded joyfully.

I sat back down into the tub, rinsed off the soap, and pulled the stopper. The dirty water quickly drained away. When it was gone, I replaced the stopper and refilled the tub. Sitting back down in the water, I rinsed off my whole body of any remaining dirty soap and water. I pulled the stopper again and stepped out of the tub.

Drying off with the amazingly thick towels in the room, I walked around the room and lit the rooms three oil lamps, turning them to low. Finishing my drying, I pulled back the covers on the bed and I got in. With images of the joyful red-headed saloon girl still haunting my thoughts, I allowed the fatigue that I’d been fighting off to overtake me, wasting the new hardness of the cock in my hand.

I woke to the light of the morning filtering through the curtains above the tub and after one of the most satisfying stretches I could remember, I rolled out of bed. That was when I noticed that the room didn’t have a commode. So I went to the tub, turned on the water, and added my own yellow water to the clear water coming out of the valve, watching the combination go down the drain.

Finishing, I looked out the window and saw that the boardwalk outside the saloon was empty as were the boardwalks on the other side of the street. I scratched my balls and that’s what reminded me that I’d slept naked and I’d sent my clothes out to be washed. I went to the door, unlocked it. When I placed my hand on the doorknob I was reminded that I could possibly surprise people in the hall if I just flung the door open and stepped into the hallway naked.

I peeked through the crack in the door and looked and listened. I neither saw nor heard anyone. My clothes were neatly folded and were sitting on a small, short table, under which were my boots. I reached out and grabbed the clothes but I couldn’t grasp all of them. Since I couldn’t hear or see anyone, I just yanked opened the door, squatted down, and gathered my clothes and boots before hurrying back into my room.

The old boots were shined to a nice gloss and the clothes were perfectly folded. My hat looked like even IT had a bath. Closing the door, I set all of the clothes on the bed and set the boots near the door. I pulled on the clean long johns, noting that the holes in the armpits and the ass had been sewn. The holes in the socks had been repaired as well. The long johns felt like new.

I put on one of my shirts and then pulled on my pants. I put the remaining clothes in the cabinet and decided that I was definitely going to stay for another night. Looking in the mirror on the wall I appeared to look almost civilized, except that I badly needed a shave and a haircut. I pulled on my boots, strapped on my gun belt, picked up my Sharps and my clean hat, and walked down to be greeted by the clerk from the previous night.

“Good morning, Mr. Llewelyn. Did you have a good night?”

“I did indeed,” I replied speaking in my normal tone of voice.

“And were your clothes taken care of to your satisfaction?”

“They were as well. But now that my clothes are up to snuff, I need a shave and a haircut. Where is the barber?”

“Out the door, across the street, to the right. You can see the barber pole.”

“And breakfast?”

“There is a fine café next to the barbershop.”

“Thank you.”

I walked out the door and followed the clerks directions. I had to walk past the cafe and from the wonderful aromas was very tempted to stop there before the barber. But decided that I wanted to be clean shaven when I ate breakfast.

Opening the door to the barber shop, I walked into a room with two barber chairs, two barbers, two men in those chairs, and five old men sitting round talking.

“Good morning, sir,” the closest barber greeted me. “If you’ll take a seat Buck or I will be with you as soon as we can.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Taking a seat in a chair facing the door and with my back to the wall and my Sharps leaned against the wall at my side, I relaxed and listened to the men in the room talking about the news of the day. It seems the weather had been dry and hot, which I knew. The church was having a social at the end of the week, unless it got canceled. Seemed that a group of ruffians had moved into the area and at times were harassing the townspeople. The last social was called off early because the ruffians started a fight when a woman loudly accused a man of speaking to her in an inappropriate manner.

That started a fight that did some damage to the meeting hall and ended with a couple of men getting shot. The men recovered but that sorta put an end to the festivities. Funny thing was that no one knew who the aggrieved woman was and no one had seen her since.

It reminded me of a situation back home in Wisconsin. A Menominee woman used to pick fights and then watch as her man defended her. They said it excited her to see her man acting like a warrior; until someone took a knife to her man and cut him up real bad.

The general banter continued until the barber named Buck called me.

“Sir, come on over here and let’s take care of you.”

I got up and walked to his barber chair and sat down.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“I haven’t had a haircut in a couple of months and I’ve been shaving with my knife. I want to keep the mustache and lose the beard and have the hair cut down to maybe a couple of inches long.”

“OK. Let me get you a hot towel.”

Buck pulled a lever on the side of the chair and leaned me back before he turned and went to the pot-bellied stove in the corner of the room and used a long stick to fish a towel out of a pot on the stove. He wrang the water out and back into the pot. Returning to me he said, “If this is too hot let me know right off.”

He proceeded to wrap the towel around my face and neck. It was hot but not painful. When he was done he had my face completely covered. Then he began the cutting of my hair.

“So, I’ve not seen you here before. You passing through or sticking around?”