Chapter 8

Tucson was the same as ever - a constantly growing, busy city bustling with activity. Laid back, dressed-down Westerners mixed with trendy youth, both excited by the novelty of Starbucks stores popping up next to the profusion of Country and Western bars. Interestingly, Macy’s and Saks flourished, as did Michael Kors, Porche, and Whole Foods, attesting to the growing wealth of the population.

I stood out in the sun, leaning back against the fender of the Ford pickup, smoking a cigar and waiting patiently for Rachael to shop. I wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t antsy. Laziness sort of suited me, that and watching women entering and leaving the mall.

I’ve observed over time that cigars have an odd effect on women. They’re polarizing. Some frown at me and wrinkle their nose in distaste. They’re the tight-ass ones in matronly clothes, conservative and carefully coiffed. They probably see me and think they’re going to be ravished. In their dreams!

Other women smile and study me. They’re measuring and assessing - am I as rough as the jeans, shirt, and cowboy boots suggest? They inspect my clothes for signs of a poseur and, when they see that my jeans are well worn and there’s no fashion label on my shirt, their smiles grow. Occasionally, one will stop and flirt.

I’m a handsome cad. A full head of silver hair helps. I have no shame. I flirt right back. It makes them feel good, harms no one, and brings a little fun to both our days. Women love to be appreciated. Thus, when Rachael emerged carrying four or five shopping bags, she found me chatting to a pretty, tall, busty, and well presented thirty-something blonde by the name of Sue Ellen.

A frown warned me Rachael wasn’t amused, and the frown deepened when Sue Ellen commented that Rachael was a pretty little girl.

Rachael tossed her shopping bags into the back of the cab and slammed the half-door shut with attitude.

For a moment I was concerned. Then Sue Ellen said, “Well, I have to be going. Nice meeting you, Billy Bob.” She sashayed away.

Rachael burst into giggles; so cute it made me grin.

“Billy Bob, were you flirting?”

“I was polishing my skills. They’re a bit rusty.”

“No they aren’t,” Rachael said, climbing into the pickup. “You flirt with every lady you see, being charming and helpful and pretending to be interested in them.”

I grinned again. “I am interested in them. There’s no harm in window shopping and admiring as long as I keep my wallet firmly in my back pocket and don’t buy.”

She buckled up. I started the truck and asked, “Speaking of shopping, what did you buy?”

“Stuff.”

“Give me my credit card. How much did you spend?”

“Not much. Maybe a bit. But I bought you a present!”

She fished the credit card out of her jeans and handed it to me. I could have sworn it was hot from use.

She twisted in her seat, reached back, fumbled around, and proudly presented me with a Stetson hat. “Try it on.”

I did, amused by her.

“Sexy, cowboy! It’s perfect! Give me a squint!” she exclaimed, laughing.

“Y’all be nuts, young lady. A purdy little thang, but crazier than a one-armed rodeo rider on an angry bull,” I drawled.

Rachael hooted with laughter.

It was mid-afternoon by the time we rolled into the forecourt at home. Rachael grabbed her bags and disappeared. I kept the Stetson on after seeing myself in the hall mirror. I did look dashing.

With a chilly bottle of Stella Artois beer in hand, I moseyed on out to the back patio and settled. My granddaughter had given me so much pleasure today, I didn’t care what the financial damages were. Her giggles still echoed through my brain. This girl was radically different from the one that had emerged at the airport. I wondered what my daughter, Cara, would think if she could see Rachael now.

Maybe I should call her. Check in. Give her a progress report. What had happened to cause a rift between the two? I checked the time. Five after five. That meant Cara was still at work. Maybe later.

My mind turned to Rachael. She excited me. What would a fourteen-year-old think is sexy? What would it be like to have a post-pubescent girl flirt with me? An over-active imagination tried to picture undressing Rachael, slowly exposing her small breasts, peeling her panties off to see her young pussy, and arousal stole in. I shifted in the chair and rearranged myself. She hadn’t appeared and I was already horny. To me, she was so deliciously young. Extreme jailbait, made more so by my age - just intoxicating.

Five minutes later, she came out. Surprising and amusing me, Rachael was wearing a very, very short jean skirt, short cowgirl boots, and a plaid buttoned shirt. Making me smile broadly was the cowboy hat tilted back on her head. She was all legs; long, very slender legs. With her mocha color, she was slightly exotic.

She smiled and posed. “Howdy,” she said. “What do you think, Billy Bob?”

Rachael looked intensely cute, not sexy in the way my mind had imagined. “You look right at home and very cute.”

She meandered over and sat next to me. That’s when I saw, in the open neck of her red and black plaid shirt, the top of a pure white, lacy camisole. I automatically wondered if she was wearing matching panties and shifted again, my partial erection swelling.

“Would you like some wine?” I offered.

Rachael grimaced. “Yuck! No thank you!”

“A Coke?”

She nodded.

In the kitchen, I rearranged myself, pressing my partial erection down. I couldn’t stop thinking about intimacy with her, the concept so exciting. With a Coke and Stella Artois in hand, I headed back.

Sun was slipping towards the hills. Shadows from one wing of the house slowly crept towards us. We chatted about the day, Sue Ellen, and how I seemed to attract women without trying.

At one point, Rachael turned in her chair and put her foot up on the seat, leaning back. She was chatting away, but I lost the conversation.

Pure, virginal white caught my attention. The material was as shiny as silk. Rachael’s panties were tight to her vulva that strained against the slinky material as if ready to burst. Her pussy was small, yet full and pouting and indescribably erotic. I could see the edges of her panties at the bottom of her buttocks, the fold where sensual material gathered below her pussy, and the amazing, lush shape formed by her labia straining against satin white.

She shifted again and the sight disappeared, hidden by a short, short denim skirt. Her legs came together as she sat up and waggled her empty glass at me.

“Want another beer? I’m getting more Coke.”

I held out an empty bottle and watched her cute ass move under the skirt.

When she returned, she handed me a new beer, sat down and said, “Did you know, in Tombstone, if you’re over eighteen, it’s illegal to smile if you’re missing more than one tooth?”

“Nope. Makes sense to me.”

She smiled. “Here in Arizona, it’s illegal to have more than two dildos in a house. How many do you have?”

I grinned. “Three. One in each bedroom for visiting ladies’ pleasure.”

“I haven’t found the one in my bedroom yet.” She sipped her Coke, her beautiful eyes full of mischief. “In this crazy State, when being attacked by someone, you can only defend yourself with the same type of weapon the attacker is using.” She waited a beat and added, “What happens if he has a scimitar? Do you stop, stand still and say, ‘Oh shit!’?”

“Have you been researching Arizona?” I asked with a laugh.

Smiling, she replied, “I sure hope you don’t have a donkey sleeping in your bathtub. That’s illegal, too.”

Grinning, I countered with, “It’s illegal to hunt camels. Just remember that when we’re out on our next adventure.”

“Really? There are wild camels in Arizona?”

“Nope. And it’s illegal in Arizona for me to do what I’m contemplating.”

Rachael’s smile became sly. “What are you contemplating?”

“If I had my wish, breaking about five laws.”

Rachael tilted her head. “Five, huh? What are they?”

“If you’re lucky, you’ll find out.”

Rachael’s retort was immediate. “You mean, if you’re lucky!” She gave me a satisfied smirk. “What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite. Pizza.”

“Pizza’s not my favorite! It’s yours!”

“Right. I forgot.” I sipped beer and contemplated her. She was very sharp for a fourteen-year-old, articulate and funny, and oddly sweet. “So, when are you going to start flirting with me?”

She smiled. “I have been.”

“Huh. How?”

“I’ve been charming and conversational and paid attention to what you’re saying, and I’ve let you ogle my legs, which you’ve been doing a lot of.”

“I think I should give you some pointers on flirting.”

“I don’t need them,” she countered.

Rachael was perfectly charming. I reached for her hand and tugged. “I feel like breaking the law. Come here.”

Her marvelous, dark, dark eyes narrowed. “Like how?” she asked.

“A kiss to start.”

“To start? What about the pizza?”

“You choose. Kiss or pizza.”

“Pizza, definitely,” she said, a wonderful smile emerging. She stood, turned and sat sideways in my lap.

With a hand on the nape of her neck, I drew her face close. I caught the scent of soap or perfume and that entrancing hint of fresh lime. She studied my eyes, then my mouth, and we kissed softly.

I felt her body relax. The kiss ended and another started, this time with more pressure, lips moving. She teased my lips with her tongue and backed off. A gleam entered her eyes.

“I think my flirting worked,” she observed. She wiggled on my lap with pleasure and kissed me again.

This time, the kiss grew passionate very quickly. Tongues touched, lips parted, and I eased my hand up the side of her body in a caress. When I brushed her small breast, two things happened. Rachael murmured with pleasure and I became fully erect.

The excitement of touching her breast far surpassed my experience of touching other lovers’ breasts. Rachael’s was so petite, a gentle mound, reinforcing her youth, and it was a powerful aphrodisiac.

I loved touching her intimately, so much so that, when the kiss ended and she rested her head on my shoulder, I kept caressing her, and she didn’t stop me. I was in heaven.

She sighed quietly and fidgeted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

Non-verbal communication is often clearer than verbal. Rachael’s hand settled over mine when I dropped my hand to rub her bare thigh. Her expression was slightly bashful, evident in the way her head tilted and face looked down, avoiding my eyes. I thought I knew why. She was confident and open when joking about us, but with real intimacy her insecurity emerged and I was sure it was a result of what she was feeling - aroused, her body feeling new desires.

I remember the conflict I’d suffered in my youth, driven by horniness but unsure of how to proceed. Should you make a move? What if it wasn’t reciprocated? What if you did something embarrassing? I remembered the angst and yearning and hope and excitement. And I remembered wishing it could be simple, not so complex and intimidating.

That, I could do for her. I could make her comfortable.

One hand rubbing her back, the other caressing her slender thigh, I said in a soft voice, “I’m pretty turned on right now. You’re incredibly sexy. How about we move inside and get comfortable? There are a few more laws I’d like to break.”

She shook silently with laughter. “Like what?”

“It’s easier to demonstrate. It involves a lot of touching and kissing and really naughty things. You might like it. I know I will.”

Rachael laughed softly. “Kay.”

She stood up. I took her hand and led her. Turning off outdoor lights and closing the doors. We continued through the living room, lights switched off, and into the kitchen. When the kitchen lights went off, we were plunged into darkness.

I drew her against me and hugged her. She hugged me back, pressing her cheek to my chest.

In the pale moonlight, she turned her face up to me when I caressed her back and smiled. She rose onto her toes and we kissed, standing in the kitchen, our lips touching. My hands slipped down to her narrow hips and then around to cup her sexy butt, and Rachael responded, her tongue emerging, the kiss intensifying.

My erection returned in full force and she felt it, pressing her body against it. The sweet flood of desire washed through me, my pulse rising, yearning.

I didn’t resist. Easing my hands down further, I touched the back of her bare thighs and, excitement mounting, with an erection now tight inside my jeans, moved my hands up under her short skirt.

The quiet moan that broke the silence was mine, involuntary, driven by the feel of silken panties on her small ass. I explored her mouth with my tongue, kissing her passionately, and cupped two gorgeous buttocks that filled my hands perfectly, narrow yet rounded, so damned sexy.

With her beautiful ass in hand, I pulled her crotch against mine and Rachael responded. Her tongue became frisky. She rubbed her pussy against the lump of my erection. Her breathing sped up; wafts of clean warm air against my cheek.

Arousal, like a thick fog, muted rational thought, maturity, restraint. I lifted her by her exciting buttocks. She was very light. Rachael wrapped her arms around my neck and legs around my waist. Still kissing her, with my desire for her rising to dangerous levels, I carried her out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into my dark, unlit bedroom.

Pale moonlight was enough.

At the side of the bed, still holding her, I bent and slowly lowered us, settling across the bed, me on top. Dressed or not, it was an incredibly sexy position.

The kiss ended. Rachael smiled, her lips rather plump. In the moonlit room, her eyes were inky black, exotic, beautiful. She stared into my eyes and I couldn’t stop myself from rubbing the lump of my erection against her crotch, her legs still around my waist.