Chapter 23: Girls

Probably the oddest, and for a short time the funniest, of my winter adventures, involved another tavern where George and I came upon two young British subalterns who had brought a pair of the local beauties in from somewhere nearby for a meal and a screw. The men seemed drunker than might do them good in bed and the young women looked disappointed if not downright angry when we arrived and sat smiling at them. We assumed that the girls were from Tory families, but we did not let that dissuade us in our open admiration of the women in their very low-cut, extremely tight-fitting and lace-trimmed gowns.

"Wot 'chu lookin' at ya bloody shitkickers?" one of the youthful officers asked us when he saw where the girls were glancing. George, of course, assumed that both of them were taken with his manly charms and had already suggested that I go sleep with the horses so he could have a better chance.

"Sir?" said George, rising to the bait and adjusting his britches. "I ain't kicked a Brit this week, but I'm willing to start right now." He made to stand and I restrained him easily with a smile.

"Bloody colonials," said the other lieutenant, "shou;ld know their place."

"Might have to teach 'em a lesson," said the first, standing with a bit of a wobble and pulling his gold-chased hanger half out of his scabbard. The young woman with him, her hair fashionably arranged at the back of her head in a dangling pile of dark curls, grabbed his arm, smiled at us, and said something inaudible. He sat, looking peeved, his fancy wig a bit askew.

"Why don' you two take a hike?" the lieutenant said, downing his drink and waving for another. "Ill-mannered boors."

"Sir," said George again, and by now the dozen or so in the common room were an attentive audience to our playlet. "Why don't we let the ladies decide?"

"Not likely," said the young man with the long curls, straightening what I assumed was a most-stylish wig.

"Seems reasonable to me," I put in. "Have you gentlemen booked rooms above?"

"None a'your damn business," said the drunker of the two, hand on the hilt of his gaudy sword.

I looked at the tavern owner, an old friend of ours. He held up two fingers of one hand and three on the other. He smiled.

"Come," I said, standing and offering the closer girl my arm. "let's go up and have a bit of a game." The boy nearer me jumped up, and I grabbed his hand, turned his wrist in and then pulled his twisted arm up behind his back. The three of us hurried up the steps while George got the drunk out of his chair and pushed him toward the steps. The black-haired young woman with him followed, eyes wide open and a fixed smile on her face.

"Room two," I said to the girl with the curls atop her head, She grinned up at me and opened the door. I pushed the boy into a chair, and the young woman and I sat on the bed.

"How about kissing games?" I said, putting my arm about her shoulder, lifting her chin and bussing her gently but persuasively. Her hands stayed in her lap, but her mouth responded nicely. "Your turn," I said standing, happy that I had shaved that week.

"You're crazy," he said, jumping up and starting to pull his sword. I grabbed the front of his fancy coat with its dark lapels and lifted him off the floor. He made several odd sounds until I put him down. Then I relieved him of his sword belt and hanger. He was not carrying a pistol or dirk. "Go ahead," I said to him, "the poor girl's waiting."

"No," he squealed, "I won't. It's disgraceful."

"One for me," I said, taking a quick kiss with my paw on her chin, as we heard some sort of scuffle from the adjoining room followed by what was obviously a blow and then the thump of a body hitting the floor. The sounds from the next room included giggles and the groans of a rope bed taking on some weight.

"Lady's choice," I said, smiling at the girl who sat beside me on the bed, feet dangling, kicking back and forth.

"Another kiss," she said sweetly, standing and stepping to the boy in the chair. She bent and he lifted his head and kissed her, very briefly, watching me all the while. I stood and gathered her in when she turned and kissed her until we had to part in order to breathe. By then our bodies had gotten to know each other reasonably well. She had firm and active buttocks and a slim back with a deeply trenched spine. Also, by then, a rhythmic creaking was coming from the next room along with some deep-throated grunts of effort, repeated over and over in a regular pattern that seemed to be accelerating.

"Undress," I said to her quietly, patting her butt. "Stand," I said to the boy. He got to his feet, looking hatred at me. I put my hand on his chest and ripped open his waist and foreflap, buttons rattled across the floor. I yanked his tight-fitting britches and small clothes to his knees and looked at his shriveled member, cowering in rather spotty curls. Then I unbuttoned my foreflap, put my hand on his chest to keep him still, and flipped out my turgid shaft which hung, swelling and rampant as I had hoped. He looked at it and trembled.

"Shall we let her choose?" I said, my hand still clamped at his chest.

He shook his head. I could hear the girl disrobing behind me and see in his eyes that she had noticed that something was going on between us.

"Pull up your breeches and go below. Have a drink," I said, offering him a shilling. "I'll bring your sword down later."

He left with a sickly smile, holding his torn waistband together. The noises from the next room had become rather disorganized and included gasps and moans as well as the steady creak of rope knots.

The girl was sitting in the bed, covers pulled up to her chin, her hair still piled atop her head. She was a pretty thing, and I wondered if she really wanted to swive anyone as rough I as was, poorly dressed, seldom shaved and rather outsized. The sounds from next door had grown still more rapid and even a bit louder. Now two distinct voices were now going "um, um, um" and "uh, uh, uh" repeatedly and the bed was rattling on the uneven floor.

I sat and pulled off my boots and britches, then yanked my shirt over my head and rolled in beside the young woman before she could get a good look at my body. She pulled me close to her.

"You weren't very nice," she said after I kissed her gently and her hand slid down my back stopping at various abrasions, scars and nicks.

"Oh," I said, caressing her smooth, raised haunch and licking her large nipples.

"You scared him," she said, putting her tongue in my mouth, in and out quickly.

"Oh, I don't think so."

"What did you show him? I saw his eyes."

"This," I said, taking her hand down to my oak-hard prod.

"Oh my," she said, stroking it. "No wonder. I've had him, and he's nothing like that. He's rabbit-like in fact, on and off quickly, big as my thumb perhaps, not a bit like that."

Through the thin wall came the unmistakable sounds of a woman in passionate release. She gasped and squealed over and over, crying, "More, more, more" between yelps. The bed continued to rap on the floor and bump the wall. I could hear tireless George breathing hard, sucking in air.

"Lets," said the girl in my arms, and we did.