Chapter 11: Progress

By the time I reached Princeton, the savage battle was over and the town was being looted by the victorious Americans. There were small piles of mangled and stripped bodies everywhere. I found my scouting friends and my dubious lieutenant and reported that I had gotten lost somewhere in the Barrens. He told me that they had planned to attack New Brunswick but that too many men had deserted and the rest were exhausted. Many of our men had died in this fight, unlike the one at Christmas. He sent me back to Trenton and said that I should report to him in Morristown every other Friday by sunset. He asked if I had money, and I jingled Susan's purse at him.

I avoided the scattered British units and by sunset had walked my tired horse back to Susan's cabin on the banks of the Delaware. Along the way I picked up some abandoned knapsacks, several canteens with something other than water in them and a couple of good muskets.

Susan kissed me and we dined on the rations I found and drank some of the rum in one of the canteens. I decided to get drunk enough to have an excuse not to try to have sex with the girl and managed to finish the rum and fall asleep in Susan's chair by the fire. She unbuttoned my foreflap and mounted my knees despite my weak protests, encouraging my battered ram to action. She failed, left me there drunk, limp, mean and dispirited and went to bed. In the morning I explained. She did not look happy about it, but said she understood and would wait until I felt better and more confident. Right then I was almost sure I never would.

Two weeks later, after living a celibate life, and, with Susan's help, learning a fair amount about Cornwallis's small but busy army and wanting to learn more, I visited Felicity Snyder's home again, by way of the back door, and had supper with the lovely woman and her bright-eyed children. Later, in her bed, I tried to tell her my idea.

"Not now, you fool," she said with a laugh, "first things first. You certainly look healthier, and some of your ugly bruises are fading."

"Do you think Ivy knows what we are doing?" I asked as she kissed her way slowly south along my belly. My right hand slid down the trench of her spine and between her round, firm buttocks while my left was buried in her rich curls encouraging her to explore the lower counties.

I stopped breathing when her tongue reached my swelling member. I messaged her neck and bit my lips to keep from crying out with joy. I tried to concentrate on my brilliant idea, but lost the thread of my thought when she mounted me, and I slid effortlessly in, obviously aided by her saliva, skill and patience. It was like entering a feather bed, all comfort.

"Now don't hurry," she said. "You always want to gallop when we should walk or trot and maybe even canter first. " She clicked her tongue and began. I did not remember doing any such things with her or anyone else.

I achieved a highly satisfactory climax for the first time in more than a fortnight, but not until I was sure the rope bed we were swiving in was going to collapse, my heart was going to burst, or that people were going to come in off the street and ask what was going on that made the trees shake so. None of these happened as she trained me, at great length, to perform the various gaits she enjoyed, holding me back with internal forces I did not know anyone had, encouraging me with everything but spurs. A short time later our sweating efforts were crowned with a second, mutual, pelvis-shuddering, bed-shaking, gut-wrenching success. My confidence climbed to imperial levels.