Chapter 8: Gretchen

The second night on the road, we camped near a fine mansion on the upper reaches of the Delaware Bay. The servants from the home, as well as the lord and lady of the manor, came down with platters of food and gallons of drink. We lay in the shade, relaxed and told each other what a terrible thing war was. I was stuffing tobacco in my pipe when I became aware of two well-shod feet, one on each side of my extended leg.

"So, you lazy good-for-nothing," the small woman with her fists on her hips said, "you're still alive."

"Ma'am?" I said, squinting up in the sun at the wide-hipped, full-breasted female wearing a silken frock and wide, lace collar that scooped down to display her fine chest. She showed many petticoats and a brazen smile.

"Don't remember me, I suppose," she said with a small laugh. "Shall I give you a clue?"

I scrambled up to my feet and tucked my unlit pipe in my pocket. She was barely five feet tall but certainly well made and wore a happy smile on her lovely face. "A clue, please," I said. "I'd hate to admit I didn't remember anyone as pretty as you are."

"Blatherskite," she cried, "such garbage. Well," she tossed her dark hair about and then grabbed a yard of it and waved it at me. "Perhaps this has thrown you off since it was blonde last time you saw it. My sister's name is Trudy, and I watched you roger her until her eyes crossed."

"Gretchen," I cried, grabbing her at the waist and swinging her about, "'Sbones, I'd never have recognized you. What have you done?"

"My husband likes it this way, reminds him of his first wife I think, and I gained a stone I suppose," she said as I put her down and she straightened out her clothes. "Come on up to the house, and I'll introduce you."

"Ah no," I said, "that's officer country up there. Aren't Greene and all the bigwigs dining?"

"It's a big house, you giant clod. Come along. I've a job for you." She grabbed my hand, and I followed, ignoring the hoots of my jealous compatriots and enjoying her nearness and lush beauty as she bounced along beside me, an exciting pocket charm.

Once in the back door, which she closed with her foot, she jumped in my arms and kissed me long and hard, grinding her fine body into me and driving her tongue down my throat while I held her heaving buttocks.

I pried her off and set her down. "How long have you been wed?" I asked as she jiggled before me, looking ravenous, pawing at me.

"None of your bloody business," she said, "but I'm a maiden no longer so you have no excuses today, m'lad."

"Eh?" I said brilliantly.

"Upstairs we go," she hoarsely whispered, grabbing my hand and pulling. I followed, curious as well as horny as she trotted rapidly upward. "To bed, to bed," she panted.

We climbed and climbed until she opened a door, led me down a roughly finished hallway and into a plainly furnished room with just a narrow bed and washstand.

"Help me out of this," she said, turning her back to me.

I unhooked several hundred tiny hooks, and she wriggled out of her tight bodice and helped me cup her upright breasts while I nuzzled her neck.

"Now the stupid stays," she said. "They're back-laced, of course."

I unlaced and she tossed them aside, wriggled her way out of her skirt and petticoats and stood before me in her white shift, silk I suspect from its sheen.

"Well," she said, licking her lips. "What are you waiting for?"

"An explanation," I said, sitting on the bed and pulling her between my wide-spread knees. My codpiece bulged painfully, of course.

She grimaced at me. "Talk, talk, talk. Is that all you can do?"

I smiled at her, kneaded her buttocks and then slid my hands up her wonderful body to cup her hard breasts with their harder nipples, my thumbs on the inside, popping them out at me, ready to mouth.

"You remember Trudy's problem?"

I nodded, pressing on her startled nipples as they protruded between my fingers still silk covered.

"Well, I married a very wealthy widower, perhaps not as rich as Trudy's husband was but close to it. His name is..."

"Don't tell me," I said, bending to kiss her. "I pity the poor man already."

"You're mean," she said, wiggling forward to kiss me back and tongue my lips.

"Well, he can't, or won't, or doesn't, or is unwilling to, or something. Perhaps he's forgotten how. It's making me crazy."

"Have you lain with him, had intercourse I mean, you know?"

She nodded. "Three times this year. I write them in my journal; he did deflower me but that put such a strain on him I didn't see him for a month afterward. I thought I had dreamed it for a while."

"Three times?"

"A total of perhaps five minutes, probably less."

"Oh," I said, gathering up her shift and exposing her legs.

"Yes," she said as my hands reached her smooth ass cheeks, "and he has no friends worth knowing, none under sixty years anyhow. The house staff is very loyal, mostly old and decrepit, hired by his first wife a half century ago and I'm not yet ready to take on a slave stud for fear of black babies."

"How old is he?" I asked, whipping her undergarment off and tossing it away. Her round breasts bounced nicely. I sucked and nibbled them, left and then right until she grabbed my hair and pulled me off.

"Oh, eighty-something," she said, gloriously bare and turning left and right under my probing grip and voracious mouth. My fingers explored several caverns, finding warmth and dampness.

I flopped back on the bed, laughing, and she immediately began unbuttoning my foreflap. I sat up quickly, held her at the shoulders and kissed her sweetly. "What did you expect?"

"I didn't know he was that old, honestly I didn't. He dyes his hair and looks a lot younger. He's thin, thin all over; you never saw such skinny legs, all three of them." She held up her forefinger.

"Is he well?"

She nodded, going back to work on my waist buttons as I pulled off my boots. "He rides almost every day and drinks a bottle of port almost every night, falls asleep in his chair and two servants carry him up to his bed. He wakes to piss and that's when he sometimes visits me, if he remembers I exist."

"Poor child," I said, pulling my shirt over my head.

"Oh," she said, hand to her mouth as she looked at my scarred and hairy body.

I turned back the quilt, and helped her up to the mattress, happy to see the triangle of curls between her thighs was still golden, and then got out of my britches and rolled in beside her, long and hard and very eager.

"So what are you going to do?" I asked as we petted and pawed each other, gnawing and licking.

"Find a young lover," she said. "I've already tried out several of the stable lads and a choirboy."

"No luck?" I asked, spread her knees.

"No endurance," she said, wiggling her hips as I tried to seat my rigid ram in her wet but narrow crevice, bending over her wide-spread legs. "Just rabbits," she squealed.

"Pity," I said, lifting her legs and sinking it into her, almost all of it, at least a half-foot of gristle.

"Um," she said, raising her head to look down at what I was doing. "I can still see that long thing disappearing into my poor sister."

"Has she remarried?" I asked, lifting her hips to get a bit deeper, grunting as I served her, ramming hard, lifting her with each thrust. She was damned tight even with her legs on my shoulders.