Chapter 6

Since I didn't have a plan, I didn't talk about the plan as we rode alone. She didn't ask. We had done this before, just riding side by side, looking around, inspecting things, enjoying nature. Finally she spoke.

"So what did you and Mom talk about when she went over there last night?"

"You," I said, for lack of anything else to say.

"Was she mad?"

"She wasn't happy."

"I didn't mean to tell her," she said. "But you made me so angry!"

"I'm sorry about that," I said, thinking 'there's that apology she was talking about.'

"I couldn't believe you said you don't care about me." Her voice was tight.

"That's not what I meant," I said. "You should know that. We're pals ... buddies ... best friends."

She reined in and sat there, staring at me. "I may not have a lot of experience with sex, but I know you don't DO that with just friends!" she said forcefully.

"I know!" I held up a hand. "Let's not argue, OK? You know I DO care about you. It's BECAUSE I care about you that I care about your sex life too, Jill. I'm tremendously honored that you chose me to be your first. But that's something you can only give away one time, and when you go to college and find some great guy who knocks your socks off, it would have been really nice to be able to give him that gift. But you can't now. That's all I was trying to say. We let things get out of control, and there are consequences when that happens. That's all."

"Nothing got out of control," she said, a stubborn caste in her voice. "I wanted to do that with you, and I'm pretty sure you wanted to do it with me too. Why can't we just enjoy that?"

"Jill, I'm forty-eight years old. You're eighteen. In ten years you'll be in the prime of your life and I'll be an old man. Why would you want to marry an old man and then push him around in a wheel chair for years?"

"Maybe I like old men in wheel chairs," she pouted. "I don't care about that. I care about how I feel right now. Besides, who said anything about marriage and where we'll be ten years from now? I know things could change, but I know how I feel right here, today. Why can't I enjoy that now?"

"Seriously?" I asked. "Because if you're serious ... if this is just a crush, or a fling or whatever you want to call it, that would make everything a lot easier. Your mom would feel better, and I would too."

She looked sideways at me. "Are you saying you'd have a fling with me, Bob?"

"Technically," I said, trying to keep the subject unemotional, "I'd be a lot more comfortable having a fling with you than thinking about a long future that might end badly for both of us. I don't want to break your heart, Jill, but I don't want mine to be broken again either."

"Do you still miss her?" she asked curiously.

"Yep," I answered instantly.

"Were you thinking of her while we were... ?" She didn't finish.

"No," I answered truthfully. "I did afterwards, but not during."

She looked away and kicked her horse with her heels. It cantered ahead and I got a good view of a healthy young woman bouncing up and down on a horse until I caught up with her.

She suddenly pointed to a place they called Bald Knob, where a huge house-sized boulder broke the surface of the pasture. The top of the rock was probably forty feet by forty feet. At this time of year, a few hours later in the day, it would be too hot to touch with bare skin, but this early in the morning it just held residual warmth from the previous day.

"Let's go over there," she said. "I want to show you something."

I loped along beside her for the half minute it took to get there. She hopped down and put hobbles on her horse. I did the same. She took her saddle bags and slung them over her shoulder and then started off across the rock. I followed. When we got to roughly the center, where the rock was the flattest, she stopped.

"Close your eyes," she ordered.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I told you to," she said firmly. "And don't peek, because if you do you'll ruin the surprise and I'll be very angry. In fact, close your eyes AND turn around."

I thought things were better, so I didn't make a fuss. I had no idea what she could show me from up on Bald Knob that I hadn't seen a hundred times before, but I was willing to play the game.

I heard the saddle bags thump onto the rock, and then scraping sounds that I imagined were things being taken out of them. I had no idea what that could be, and began to get interested in this game. I heard two thumps that I couldn't identify, and some rustling sounds. There was the snap of a sheet being whipped in the wind, which was very odd, but just as that happened she said "Don't peek!" so I stayed where I was.

I'll be honest. I did open my eyes. I hoped the shadows would give me some information, but I was facing east and the sun was in my eyes.

"OK, you can turn around now," she said. She sounded nervous, and I had Outer Limit type visions of her with a gun, intending to regain her pride through violent means.

The reality hit me just as hard.

She had, as they say in polite discourse, disrobed ... completely. And her clothing wasn't all she'd removed. Lying on the blanket I'd thought was a sheet being snapped open, she was completely devoid of the pubic hair that, yesterday, had so tickled my nose.

"I'm bald on Bald Knob," she said, sounding like she might burst into hysterics at any second. "I did it last night, while I was trying to figure out if I was injured."

"Injured?" I asked in a dreamy voice. She was up on her elbows, with her heels drawn up about halfway and her knees leaning apart like doors on broken hinges. If you looked up "fuckable" in the dictionary of sex, her picture would have been the perfect illustration. Her breasts were heaving, which was the only indication that she was in some distress.

"It really hurt when you first went in me," she said softly. "And then it felt so good and I rubbed so hard I was afraid I might have hurt myself."

"You shaved," I sighed.

"Roberta Victor, another of my friends in school, said that men like a shaved pussy." She said it matter-of-factly, but somehow it sounded so sexy that I jerked.

They say time flies when you're having fun. I don't know about that, but time flew for me right then, because I thought about a dozen things while a few seconds ticked off.

I thought about how insensitive I'd been the day before. I thought about how good she looked, one component of which was how willing she looked. There could be no shred of doubt that she was offering herself wholeheartedly, whether she was misguided or not. I thought about what she would likely think if I turned around, got on my horse, and galloped back to the house. I thought about whether or not I could actually make myself do that. I thought about how much I wanted to be with this girl, who wanted me in a way that I wasn't used to, and made me feel fabulous. I thought about the fact that my prick had a mind of its own and was already rock hard, old man or not. And I thought about what I'd said to her mother ... that I wouldn't hurt her daughter's feelings.

"I want you," I croaked.

"I want YOU," she replied, sounding less nervous.

"This is crazy," I moaned.

"I don't care," she said softly. "Are you hard for me Bob? Is it all long and hard like it was yesterday? I want it in me again. Don't you want to put it in me again?"

"Yeeeesssss," I groaned.

It occurred to me, about the time I was taking my socks off, that I was being had again. If I wasn't a dumb prick waiting to be used, and if she wasn't playing me like a fiddle again, then my name wasn't Bob MacAllister. My bobbing prick didn't care, of course. It was just humming. If it could have talked it would have been panting "Let me at her! Oh boy! Oh boy! She's gonna be so tight and warm! Oh boy! Yummmmmmmmm."

Which may be why a bit of perversity arose in me, requiring that I reclaim control of the situation so that I wasn't a complete patsy. Either that or there's a little cave man in all of us that can be let loose in that particular situation.

Which means that, when I got between her thighs on my hands and knees, and that rock was really hard on my knees, I used her body as a mattress. I am ashamed to say that, for a few minutes, I really didn't care too much about this girl that could make me lose my resolve so easily. I lunged into her, letting my full weight rest on her body. She rocked upwards, gasping for air as my chest tried to crush her breasts flat. My toes and hands aided me in going deep in one long rush. The sudden feel of tight, hot pussy all around my prick was so satisfying, and the feeling of being the master, on top of her, pinning her to that blanket, made me feel powerful.

Then one of her whimpers got through to the human being still resident in some part of my brain, and I suddenly craved hearing that whimper be one of joy, rather than discomfort.

I pushed up onto my arms, so she could breathe, and took some weight on my knees. I knew they'd be sore afterwards, but I didn't care.

Then I fucked her. I didn't make love to her. There wasn't any romance to it. I had been played, and now I played her body. I knew what to do and how to move, and I took her to heights that she screamed from. I had no urge to cum at all. It was all about wearing this woman out ... giving her all that she asked for and so much more that she hadn't been aware was out there. At some point after her gut wrenching gasps that signaled what I was sure was her third orgasm, I relented and rolled, so that she was on top.

If I'd thought she'd get up and run, I was totally mistaken. She didn't have a lot of experience at this, but she remembered the day before, and how to move so that her clit was rubbed. She lunged wholeheartedly, our sweaty bodies slipping this way and that. I tried to capture a nipple, but she was moving too much, so all I could do was lick her breasts, like some demented, but friendly dog.