Chapter 18

Karen

I knew, when I was at breakfast, all those weeks ago, at the Silver Spur, that I had changed. That I was attractive, to men at least. Now, I knew that I had been dressing wisely, because these were boys my age, young men, ready, willing and hunting for it.

My nether parts spritzed ... just a little. A sign to me that maybe, just maybe, my body was ready, willing and looking to be found.

My brain said NO, my body said YES.

If we were playing Hide and Seek they could have found me at midnight by scent alone.

There were a couple of my students ... yeah, girl ... students ... remember that.

But ... they’re so cute ... and my eyes were drawn in the general direction of belt buckles.

Students!

But.

Students.

Talk about being torn. Body ... Shut up!

What probably saved me was the looters.

And the police.

But they came later ... after all the shooting.

We, as a people are one step above Cave Man. Flight or flight. Them or us. I am, personally, appreciative of Hairy’s thoroughness in training me to shoot. When I needed it ... the training took over. Sight picture ... squeeze, sight picture ... squeeze. Seven times. Well ... only three effective rounds. The other four rounds were close ... but no cigar. Strikes but in soft tissue. Still hollow points have great shock value.

During the polite questioning, my response time was excellent. I explained why I was armed ... the storm ... and the possibility of looters. The beatup old pickup, full of the spoils of earlier and easier pickings illustrated my concern. That they were armed ... never take a knife to a gunfight ... and carrying outside the sheath ... made my quickness a rational action. Oh, yes ... and I was the sole responder. That took the boys minds off my rather high cut jeans shorts ... the lower curve of my cheeks were exposed.

And the fraying fabric didn’t help.

Shocking, I know. But I never intended wearing them off the ranch.

Speaking of shock ... the adrenalin is wearing off. I’m feeling ... lightheaded.

“Officer...”

“Miss Post?” he responded. Then he took a closer look. “Miss Post. You need to sit down. Put your head between your knees. Officer Valenswego!”

“Yes sergeant?” Although her accent was pure American, her lightly tanned visage betrayed her Western European heritage.

“Help Miss Post. It looks like the adrenalin rush is wearing off.”

She was older ... not ancient ... perhaps between 23 and 25. She helped support me to the bathroom.

She sniffed... “Did shooting excite you?”

“No. This never happened to me before.”

I explained the wet panties ... and the reason for the clothing change ... and my reaction to the young men as they reacted to me. The shorts were easy ... I had no other choice.