Chapter 4

Her help was way better than Rosie Palmer and her five daughters.

"Let me get a closer look," Carole said. She did ... look closer ... much closer. Close enough that she must have slipped and I realized where thought and instinct became separate entities. I would never have been so impolite as to try that ... but instinct said, 'It's wet ... it's warm ... and it's not nearly deep enough.' I grabbed her by the ears and pulled ... she swallowed and I passed the curve of her throat. I felt her tongue snake along that big ridge on the underside of my cock ... her lips met my short and curlies and I embarrassed myself!

... and embarrassed myself

... and embarrassed myself

... and embarrassed myself

... and embarrassed myself

... and embarrassed myself

... and embarrassed myself ... not longer than thirty seconds from wet and warm to the little pulses of leftover passion. I was pretty vocal in my embarrassment.

"Oh, no, big boy ... you are not going to sleep. Here ... lick this." She cut a donut with my cock as the pivot and I was staring up at a nude clam. The clam started to open ... it dripped... ! I have no idea what caused me to taste the juice that dripped on my lips but I knew I'd found what I had been looking for. Life had never offered me such delicious fruit ... I ate the peach.

Somewhere along the line the peach went away ... and there was a new and grasping wetness riding up and down and sideways and circling the wagons ... Podner!! The cowgirl had round firm pointy handles bouncing above me so I grabbed them ... just to keep her from bucking off.

"Squeeze ... yeah ... harder ... god Fuck fuck fuck ... twist the nipples ... yeah ... I ... I ... Oh ... not so soon ... I ... oh shit ... oh oh oh oh ... Oh God ... I ... I ... I ... i ... pleeeee..." Wild eyed, she looked down at me ... caught her second wind and we were off to the rodeo.

1954 grade B westerns ... Now I understood why John Wayne rode off in the sunset ... he was going to whack off ... Why Dale Evans wore fringed skirts and didn't ride sidesaddle ... why all the western heroines didn't 'Post' when galloping.

I'll bet the studios kept plenty of towels to wipe down wet saddles.

When she fell over and there was a resounding 'POP' as the vacuum broke she noticed I was still up.

"No! ... fuck no! No! Evil evil evil."

"You know ... we're not kissing cousins," I said.

"Nope."

"Carole," I asked, "What is your last name?"

She started to laugh ... in the middle of a deep belly laugh she said, "Fromm ... Carole Ann Fromm."

"Pleased to meet you, Carole Ann Fromm," I shook her hand. "I'm sorry about trying to tear your ears off ... I've never..."

"You never? You have that donkey dick and you never? You were virgin?" She looked me square in the eye. "What's the matter with the girls in this town?"

I pointed north, "Methodist church."

With a general sweep to the west, "Main Street ... Cute shop clerks but Daddy knows everybody, and they all know us." My finger was moving, "The Post Office."

When I pointed west, I kept moving my finger ... pointing in the general direction, "Congregational church, my dentist, Christian Scientist Reading Room, Seventh Day Adventists, Mormon something ... not a church but like one."

Chapter 5 »