Loading...Early in the morning of August 21, 1863 William Clarke Quantrell and his band of Missouri ruffians sacked and burned the city of Lawrence, Kansas and changed my life forever. Amost all of the city was destroyed including the Lawrence Journal newspaper, where I worked, and the Eldridge House Hotel, where I lived. Fortunately I was in Topeka on that day, covering the newly-formed and very contentious Kansas Legislature.
In a matter of a few hours I was out of a job and with no place to live, literally at loose ends. I rode horseback the 30 some miles from Topeka to Lawrence, surveyed the damage and pondered my future. I soon learned that all my meager possessions had been destroyed in the fire, save for the clothes and personal papers that I had taken with me to Topeka.
I decided that I had had quite enough of “bleeding Kansas” and all of it’s travails with it’s pro-slavery Missouri neighbors and decided to, in the words of Horace Greeley, go west. To expedite that I first had to go east, about 40 miles to Westport Landing, just across the Missouri River, near the state line. Westport Landing was the embarkation point for both the Oregon and Santa Fe Trails and was a bustling metropolis.
I rode all day and arrived in Westport Landing in the late afternoon. I stopped at the local newspaper and inquired about the possibility of wagon trains still forming for the trek west.
“It’s late in the year for wagon trains,” said the gentleman who answered my inquiries, “but I believe there is one still forming just north of town. Ride down the main street and look for the wagons and ask for Mr. McCurdy.
I thanked him and swung wearily back up into the saddle and rode north. I soon saw a cluster of Overland Wagons, as they were called and was directed toward a lean, hard looking man.
“Mr. McCurdy?”
“That would be me. Who are you.”
“Jerome Baxter is my name. I just lost almost everything I own in the big raid down in Lawrence and I’d like to go west.”
“Well, Mr. Baxter, these folks I’m shepherding are not too keen on taking single men, although you look old enough and harmless enough that they might make an exception. Do you have a wagon and provisions.”
“What I have, sir, is what you see. I lost everything in the fire.”
He paused for a moment and then called to a man standing close by, “Jake, you still got any copies of that flyer that lawyer fellow was handing out the other day?”
Jake rummaged around in his saddle bag and brought out a well worn piece of newsprint and handed it to the trail wagon master. McCurdy scanned it briefly and handed it to me. “Look this over. I don’t know if they’ve found anybody yet but it don’t hurt to ask.”
I thanked him and eagerly read the flyer. The message was brief – Wanted – a respectable, God-fearing Christian gentleman to accompany a widow on the trip to Oregon. Must be of good character with references. Must own a rifle, side arm and Bible and be familiar with all. Provisions and transportation will be provided for the man chosen. Interviews will be conducted on 22 and 23 August at 1 pm at the office of John Preston, Esquire, Attorney at Law at 414 South Main Street, Westport Landing.
I realized that there was still a chance – if the job hadn’t already been filled. I had the weapons, I could find a bible and although God-fearing Christian was a bit of a stretch I figured I could fake that. My ex-wife was the daughter of a Baptist preacher and I had been exposed to years of the good book and even had a letter of recommendation written by the old man in my personal papers. She had left me, running away with a traveling Bible salesman. She took with her big breasts, a compact butt and a mean disposition. She was not missed.
I rode back to town and checked into a hotel. In my room I quickly went through my papers, found several letters of recommendation that I had saved from past job interviews – thank God I’d not removed them from my valise, and walked downstairs to the hotel desk. I inquired about a place to take a bath and a good place to eat dinner and was sent along my way. I luxuriated in a hot bath – at least their definition of one, devoured a good dinner, smoked a cigar, drank a glass of French brandy and went back to my hotel room and into bed. In a few moments I fell sound asleep.
I awoke shortly after dawn to the normal sounds of a hotel in a frontier town, got quickly dressed and walked back to the restaurant where I had eaten the night before. Several cups of hot strong coffee, bacon, eggs, biscuits and fired potatoes soon had me back in the game. I started to walk back to my hotel room and then remembered one of the important items I needed for the interview that afternoon. Surely there would be somewhere in this bustling burg that I could beg, borrow or steal a bible. Looking around I saw a church. A small sign at the door said, First Baptist Church. Reverend Hiram Hopewell, Pastor. All Good Souls Welcome.
“Humph,” I thought to myself, “All good souls – assuming they are white and willing to tithe.”
The door was unlocked and I walked in. Church doors were usually unlocked in that day. The sanctuary was empty but the door to the church office was open and I tapped lightly on the door frame.
A middle-aged man looked up from his Bible and said, “May I be of service?”
“I’m looking for Reverend Hopewell.”
He stood up and shook my hand vigorously, grabbing my right arm firmly with his left hand. Ministers do so love to press the flesh. “You have found him, pilgrim. What can I do for you?”
I quickly told him my name and occupation and recounted the story of the Lawrence raid. He commiserated and than asked, “Are you looking for a church home?”
“No sir,” I replied, “I’m looking for a Bible. Mine, I regret to say, was destroyed in the fire.”
“You should have had it with you.”
“I, uh, forgot it when I packed to go to Topeka and didn’t think the men at the legislature would require it.”
“More’s the pity,” he said and began rummaging in a bookcase behind him. “Here,” he said and handed me a well-worn copy of the good book. “King James version,” he said. “No more beautiful words have ever been put on paper.”
I thanked him profusely and, standing up to leave, I said, “Perhaps you know my father-in-law, Reverend Hill.”
He laughed, “Give ’em Hell, Hill? I went to seminary with him in Louisville. You say he’s your father-in-law?”
“Yes sir I am, uh, was married to his daughter Becky.”
He frowned slightly and said, “I think I heard something about that. She always was a willful girl. Much too pretty for her own good. It’s a shame when a woman goes astray, especially the daughter of a man of the cloth. I’m sorry for your loss.”
I thanked him again and began walking back to my hotel, thinking “I’m glad somebody’s sorry but it’s certainly not me.”
I retired to my room and spent the rest of the morning thumbing through the well-worn pages of the scripture. I ate a light lunch, checked my appearance one more time in the fading bathroom mirror, grabbed rifle, pistol and bible and walked down Main Street to the office of Lawyer Preston. A fetching young woman looked at me with an inquiring expression and I said, “I’m here about the interview for a traveling companion.”
“Have a seat,” she said. “Mr. Preston is seeing someone now. I’ll put you on the list.”
I gave her my name and sat down. Several other men were sitting around the room. A couple appeared to be cowboys and one was a gentleman even older than I. Over the course of the next hour or so each of them were ushered into the inner sanctum and then left. Finally it was my turn.
“Mr. Preston will see you now, Mr. Baxter.”
I thanked and went into his office. It was typical of a frontier lawyer. A few signed diplomas on the wall, several rotogravures of local politicians and dignitaries and a bookcase of what appeared to be legal textbooks. Behind him was a door to another room which stood slightly ajar.
“Mr. Baxter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have a seat.” He looked me over carefully. ‘How old are you, Mr. Baxter.”
“I’m 58.”
“You appear to be in good health. Let me see your references.”
I handed them to him and sat waiting, patiently, while he read them.
“Most impressive,” he said. “Why do you wish to go west?”
I recounted, for the third or fourth time my recent history.
“I see you brought a bible. Very good.”
I nodded, smiling pleasantly.
“You are familiar with the scriptures?”
“I try to read the word of the Lord every day but I don’t believe that mere mortal man can ever truly fathom the deep mysteries of this troubled universe.”
He thought for a moment and then said, “I see you brought your weapons. Are you equally familiar with them?”
“Familiar enough, ” I replied. “Although being a journalist I’ve always subscribed to the belief that the pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Well spoken, sir, Well spoken. Let me describe your duties, should we offer, and you accept this position. My client wishes to join her son and his family in Oregon. They went west several years ago to become established and she and her husband were to join them. Unfortunately her husband was stricken with cholera and, even more unfortunately, cast aside this mortal coil about a month ago. Your duties would be to drive the wagon, look after her well-being and see her safely to Oregon. In exchange she will provide food for you and your horse, if you have one and when you arrive in Oregon you will be given $100. Any questions.”
“None that I can think of.”
“You’re not interested in her age or her appearance?”
“I don’t believe that’s germane to our conversation. I assume she is of good enough health to survive the journey. I feat that my nursing skills are rather limited.”
He looked at me and said, “Well said, Sir, well said. Most of the men we have interviewed were keenly interested in how old she was and how she looked. It speaks highly of you that you refrained. Now, I would ask you to retire to my waiting room for a few moments.”
I nodded and walked out, closing the door behind me. I sat down and the young woman at the receptionists desk said, “He asked you to stay?”
“Indeed he did.”
“Interesting, most interesting,” she said with a smile.
I sat down and began to thumb through a copy of Harper’s Weekly, reading the distressing news from the Civil War battlefields and grimacing at Mr. Brady’s very grim photographs of same. I was heartened a bit by the Union victories at Vicksburg and Gettysburg and hoped that the dreadful war would soon be over. Through the closed door to Lawyer Preston’s office I could hear a man’s and a woman’s voice. After a few moments the door opened and the lawyer said, “Please come back in.”
I walked back into his office and immediately noticed a woman seated beside his desk. She appeared to be in her early 50s. She was wearing a black dress, mourning clothes I assumed, and she had a full head of dark hair, turning grey, wrapped in a bun behind her head. She looked pleasingly plump with a pair of magnificent breasts beneath her dress and, from what I could see, shapely legs. She had a round and pleasant face with bright blue eyes and she smiled at me and nodded.
“Mr. Baxter, this is Mrs. Spaulding,” the lawyer said.
I walked over toward her and lightly shook her hand.
“Thee may call me Clara, if thee wishes.”
My eyebrows raised at the word ‘thee’ and she laughed and said, “I am a Quaker.”
“You, uh thee, may call me Jerome or, perhaps, Jerry.”
She laughed and said, “Don’t trouble yourself with my vernacular, Jerry. I am pleased to meet you.”
“And I, madame, am pleased to meet you.”
“Please sit down, Mr. Baxter. Mrs. Spaulding and I have discussed you. She has read your resume and, if you are willing, the uh, job, is yours.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Assuming the terms are as you described them, I gladly accept.”
“Good,” he said, “I’m glad that’s settled. We had, frankly, despaired of finding a suitable traveling companion for Mrs. Spaulding and we feared that she would have to delay her trip until next spring until you appeared.”
I smiled and nodded and he went on, “You will drive the wagon, Mrs. Spaulding will provide and prepare the meals. You will be available to help her as she requires. She will sleep under the wagon. You will sleep under the stars although close enough to be of assistance should she require it. Do we have an understanding?”
“I understand you perfectly, Sir and will do my utmost to provide any assistance the dear lady requires.”
“Then we are in agreement. The wagon train leaves tomorrow at dawn. I trust that will not be an inconvenience?”
“Not at all,” I said and, turning to Clara I said, “thank you for putting your trust in me. I shall strive not to disappoint you.”
She smiled and, self-consciously, reached down to straighten her dress.
Early the next morning I met them at the wagon train. She had what appeared to be the latest model of what was known as the Overland Wagon, referred to by many as a Prairie Schooner. It contained a few pieces of well-made and well-kept furniture, bedding and cooking equipment, sacks of flour, coffee, beans, sugar, salt and a number of slabs of bacon and cured hams and a large trunk which obviously contained Mrs. Spaulding’s clothing. There was a little space at the back of the wagon. Clara gestured at it and said, “I’m afraid there’s not my space for thy things.”
“I don’t have many things,” I said.
“What you have appears to be enough for me,” she said with a shy smile.
Hitched to the front of the wagon were four magnificent oxen standing placidly.
“They recommend oxen instead of horses or mules,” Lawyer Preston said. “They can graze more efficiently on the sparse grasslands you’ll be traveling through.”
I put my saddle, my bedroll, my precious valise and my bundle of clothes in the back of the wagon and hitched my horse behind using a rope provided by one of the handlers. I shook hands with the lawyer, climbed up onto the seat and, stretching out my hand to Clara, I said, “Allow me.”
“Thank thee, kind sir.” She took my hand and I pulled her up and she settled herself beside me.
The lawyer gave us a nod and said, “God speed.”
I laughed and said, “Oxen speed is more like it but I trust that God will be with us.”
Our first day on the journey was uneventful. We shared our life stories and became generally better acquainted. She was a delightful traveling companion, ready to laugh and easy to laugh with. We camped for the night. She spread her bed roll beneath the wagon and I put mine a respectable distance away.
“Goodnight, Jerry. Sleep well.”
“And you too,” I replied.
The next morning I awoke at dawn after a good night’s sleep, surprisingly good for sleeping on the ground. She arose and went into the wagon and emerged after a bit wearing not the black that she had been wearing but a brightly colored light blue summer dress which made her blue eyes sparkle.
“You look different today,” I said.
“Well,” she said. “I’m tired of wearing widow’s weeds. Black is much too hot to travel in and I can’t mourn my dear dead husband forever. I’m, we’re, off on a new adventure and I hope to enjoy the trip.”
We continued along our way, heading west from Westport Landing and angling north toward Nebraska. She was a good, if not gourmet cook and the wagon was well provisioned. We were becoming more and more comfortable with each other and, it seemed to me that she sat closer to me on the wagon seat as we went along. We camped that night on the prairie and sat, drinking our coffee, admiring the sunset.
She looked at me and said, “A penny for thy thoughts.”
I smiled at her and said, “I’m a journalist and a penny per thought is probably appropriate.” She laughed and I continued, “This is so very pleasant, Not at all what one would suppose for a trip to the wild, wild west The scenery is magnificent, the setting is serene and the company is exceptional.”
“Oh, Jerry, thou are a poet.”
“Nope, just a scribbler but I do have my moments.”
We went our separate ways to bed. She beneath the wagon, me nearby beneath the stars. We could see storm clouds gathering in the west. I don’t know how long I slept but I jerked suddenly awake as a bolt of lightning struck on a distant hill and a heavy rain began to pour down. I drew my bedroll around me and than I heard her voice.
“Jerry. Come here and get out of the rain. Thee will catch thy death.”
I stood up and quickly moved under the wagon, thankful to be out of the rain which was now coming down in torrents.
“It’s really raining hard,” she said.
“As we used to say in Kansas, like a cow pissing on a flat rock,” I said. She laughed and said, “It will be dryer here.”
“And much nicer,” I replied.
She touched my bedroll and said, “This is wet and probably uncomfortable but mine is big enough for two.”
“Thank you,” I said, and moved closer to her. She was still in her nightshirt and I in my underwear. She made room for me and said, “Now, behave thyself.”
“Say no more,” I said.
We closed our eyes and soon went to sleep, listening to the thunder and the rain falling on the covered wagon above us. I awoke at first light and discovered that during the night we had moved closer together. Both of us were on our sides in the time-honored spoon position. Her body was very warm and comforting with her ass pressed closely to my crotch. As if my penis had a mind of it’s own it began to respond. I fought the urge to press closer to her and to reach around her and touch her breasts. She seemed to stir and did not pull away but stayed where she was. I knew she could feel my erect cock pressing against her ass. She murmured sleepily, “Thank thee, Jerry, for keeping me warm and making me feel protected. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me,” she said, with a chuckle. I laughed and a new day began.
We moved further into Nebraska, making our usual 10 to 15 miles a day. The rain overnight had freshened the air. It was now September and the nights were growing cooler. Again we drank our coffee after dinner and admired the sunset. This time there were no threatening clouds.
“It doesn’t look like it will rain tonight,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re right” and I put my arm around her drawing her closer to me.
She looked at me and said, “Thee may find me bold and brazen but if thee would like to lay beside me I would not mind. After all, one never knows when a sudden shower could begin.”
I smiled and said, “It would be my pleasure.”
She went into the wagon and I walked away from the fading campfire and stripped down to my underwear. She emerged from the wagon wearing her nightshirt and crawled under the Prairie Schooner. I laid down beside her and gave her a tender touch upon her face.
“Good night, Clara,” I said.
“Thee may kiss me goodnight, if thee wishes.”
“Thy wish is my command,” I said and gave her a tender kiss. She sighed and kissed me back and this time her tongue darted briefly into my mouth.
“I am so wicked,” she said.
“No,” I replied. “You are so wonderful.”
We snuggled close and soon went to sleep. The next morning I awoke and felt her body close to mine just like the morning before. She moved her ass closer to my erect cock and this time she took my hand and brought it tentatively to her breast. I placed my hand upon her and gave her a gentle squeeze. I could feel her nipple hardening beneath my touch.
“Thee are a gentle man and a wonderful discovery,” she said with a sleepy sigh.
“I’m glad you think so,” I said and slowly caressed her nipple. She sighed again and pulled my hand closer to her bosom. We could hear the sounds of the camp stirring around us so I reluctantly pulled my hand away and said, “Time to get up. We’ve miles to go before we sleep and promises to keep.”
“My sweet gentle poet man,” she said. “I like the thought of promises.”
Our days and nights on the Oregon Trail continued with laughter during the day and cuddling close at night. Our kisses grew in intensity and she became more and more comfortable with my touches and caresses to her breasts beneath her nightshirt. She could feel my hard cock as we lay close together but she had not yet touched or felt it. I was content with our relationship and becoming fonder and more attached to her as we journeyed on. One morning as we rode she said, “Jerry I really appreciate thy patience with me. I know thee wants terribly to know me and I thank thee for not pushing me too quickly.”
I looked at her intently and said, “Clara you are probably the sweetest person I have ever met. I want you to understand that whatever pace we take into whatever direction I will let you lead the way.”
“Thank thee,” she said. “I have been with only one man in my life in that way. And, there is so little privacy in the camp that I am afraid to take our love any further.”
“Perhaps we can arrange some time and some place to be alone.”
“I think I would like that. Let me study on it for a while.”
We continued along the trail and then she quietly put her hand upon my leg and very gingerly touched my cock and rubbed it up and down very gently. It quickly hardened and then she pulled her hand away and leaned close to me and whispered in my ear, “I have wanted to do that since the first morning when I woke up and felt it pressed against me. I have wanted to do it every night while we kiss and cuddle but I didn’t want to get thee too excited.”
I smiled and gave her a quick kiss. She returned it and than said, “I hope no one else saw that.”
“What difference would that make to anybody. We are both grown ups.”
“Indeed we are.”
Early that afternoon one of the wagons rolled over a large rock, went into a rut, snapped off a wheel and broke an axle. It would require several hours to repair it so the word was passed from wagon to wagon that would stop here for the night. Here was a lovely valley with plenty of good grazing grass for the livestock. We were not far from a Fort so the presence of hostile Indians was unlikely. We circled the wagons and unhitched the oxen to let them graze.
“What a lovely place this is,” Clara said.
“I heard someone says it’s called Ash Hollow and many wagon trains stop here. I believe there’s talk that we might stay here for an extra day to let the livestock graze and allow everyone a bit of needed relaxation,” I said.
Clara smiled and said, “It will be nice to take a break from our travels. I wonder how we can pass the time?”
“Why don’t we go for a ride. Old Bucky hasn’t been ridden since we left Westport Landing and he might enjoy an outing too.”
“That sounds divine,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
She put some things in a satchel, I saddled Bucky and rode him over to where she sat on the wagon seat.
“Climb aboard,” I said.
She looked around, modestly pulled up her dress and settled in close behind me, wrapping her arms around me. We took off on a slow walk and she kept her arms tightly around me. Soon we reached the Platte River and rode for a while along it’s banks. Then we discovered a small lagoon surrounded by large cottonwood trees. I stopped the horse and said, “This looks like a good place and that water looks inviting. I haven’t had a real bath in weeks.”
“Nor have I,” she said. “What are you suggesting, Jerry?”
“What do you think I’m suggesting?”
“I think thee wants to go skinny dipping with me.”
“Only if you want to.”
Turning my back to her I began to slowly remove my clothes and, without looking back I grabbed a bar of home-made soap and walked into the water. I sank down until I was completely wet and then stood up and began to soap myself from head to toe. My back was still turned to her and I had purposely not looked to see what she was doing although I could hear some sounds of activity. I thought, or at least I hoped, I could hear her walking in the waist-deep water toward me. I sensed her behind me and heard her say, “Would thee like me to wash thy back?”
“I will,” I said, “if you’ll let me wash yours.”
“That seems only fair,” she said.
Still not looking at her I reached a hand behind me and gave her the bar of soap. She dipped it in the water and began to slowly scrub my back. “That feels so good, Clara,” I said. “It feels so good to be clean after all these weeks on the trail.”
“Cleanliness is next to Godliness, I am sure thou has heard.”
“In that case I think this is heaven.”
She rinsed me off and then she said “Now it’s my turn.”
“Tell me when to turn around,” I said. “So I can scrub your back, too.”
I could hear the sounds of her washing and wanted desperately to turn around and watch her but I resisted the temptation. Then she said, “I’m ready for my back scrub.”
I turned slowly. Her back was turned to me and I could see that for the first time she had released her hair from the tight bun that had confined it. It was dark brown, turning slightly gray and so long that it fell all the way down to her hips.
“You have beautiful hair, Clara. I’ve been longing for you to let it down.”
She laughed and said, “There does come a time to let one’s hair down.”
I laughed and said “It’s beautiful but it’s also covering your back.” Reaching back with both hands and leaning slightly forward she brought it around to hang in front of her exposing her lovely bare back. She reached around behind her and handed me the soap and I began to gently scrub her back.
“Thee can scrub me harder, If thee would.”
“Gladly,” I said and began to scrub her back more vigorously. The soap, although home-made, was lightly scented. “This soap,” I said, “has a delightful smell. What is it?”
“Lilac.”
“You made this yourself.”
“I am a woman of many talents,” she said with a shy laugh. She squatted down until she was into the water up to her neck and then stood back up.
“What are some of your other talents?” I asked.
“You shall see. All in good time.”
“Is this a good time?”
“Perhaps.”
Saying that she began to walk back to the river bank and I followed close behind. She had laid two large towels on the ground. She picked up one and I picked up the other. Her back was still turned to me. We dried off and hung the towels on a nearby shrub to dry.
“Clara,” I said, “turn around and let me look at you. Let me feast my eyes upon you.”
“Oh, my wonderful, wonderful poet man,” she said and slowly turned toward me. Her long hair was still hanging down in front of her, slightly parting around two abundant breasts.
“Put your hair behind you.”
She did so and said, “I think I’m putting many things behind me at this moment.”
“Now who’s the poet,” I said.
She laughed and stood in front of me with her arms hanging at her sides. Her breasts hung slightly down. Her skin was very pale and each breast was crowned with pink aureolas and lovely hard nipples. She had a round belly with a hint of some stretch marks and further down a thick, luxurious mass of brown pubic hair.
“Magnificent,” I said, with a catch in my voice.
“Thee are referring to my bosoms,?” she asked.
“I’m referring to all of you. You are a beautiful woman. I could look at you for hours and never tire of the task.”
She smiled and said, “I have never exposed myself to a man in quite this fashion.”
“Not even your husband?”
“Not even him. We made love, obviously but we were never naked before each other like thee and I are now. But because thee have been so gentle and so patient I feel so very comfortable with thee.”
“Madame I am honored, ” I said and gave her a slight bow.
I watched her looking at me and could see her glance dropping down to my middle-aged penis which was standing proudly out from body.
“I think thee are beautiful as well, Jerry.”
“A sight for sore eyes?”
“A sight for loving eyes.”
I moved toward her and, not yet pressing my body against hers I gave her a deep, soulful kiss. I stopped kissing her and said, “Clara you are the wagon master here. I am totally at your command.”
“Just hold me and kiss me and let me feel thy body close to mine.”
I slowly brought her toward me, feeling her flesh on my flesh and slipping my hands under her long hair began to stroke up and down her back. She sighed and I slowly moved my hands down to cup her pleasingly round ass.
“Are thee taking liberties with me?”
“Only those that you are willing to give me.”
She reached into her satchel, brought out a quilt and laid it on the ground. She laid down upon it and looked up at me expectantly. “Would thee care to join me?”
“Madame I want to join you in the worst way Uh, better make that the best way.”
“Thee are so devilish.”
I laid down beside her and began to kiss her again and slowly moved my right hand up to cup and fondle her left breast. It was soft and full and delightful to touch. With my finger tips I slowly began to stroke and pull at her erect nipple.
“Thee has a gentle touch,” she said.
“May I taste them?”
“You may.”
I moved my head down and began to lick and suck on her nipple. She sighed and pulled me closer to her
“Oh, Jerry, how thee pleases me.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
I moved my right hand down and slowly caressed her belly, playing with her navel and then further down to lovingly pat and stroke her bush of curly brown pubic hair. I let my fingers slide through it, straightening it and fluffing it.
“May I go further?”
“Go where thee wishes oh sweet, sweet man.”
I smiled and sucked and slowly moved my hand down to her nether lips. She sighed and spread her legs giving my eager fingers easier access. I slowly glided my touch along her labia which were warm and pouting and then, gentling parting them, dipped into her inner sanctum. She was delightfully wet. As I stroked she began to moan and I could smell her essence, the indescribably aroma of a primed and ready female. I dipped my middle finger into her tunnel of love and slowly moved it in and out and around and around, coating my finger with her moistness. Then, looking directly into her face and her adoring eyes I brought my finger to my mouth and lovingly sucked it. She gave me a look of astonishment and said, “You are the first man who has ever done that.”
“Would you like me to do it again?”
“Oh yes. It looks so naughty.”
“It tastes delicious.”
I put my finger back into her willing passage, thoroughly soaking and immersing it in her juices and brought my finger back to my mouth.
“The second helping is even better than the first.”
She groaned and again I plunged my finger into her. This time when I brought my finger back to my mouth I said,
“Would you care for a taste?” She hesitated and then opened her mouth and I inserted my finger. She sucked it and said, “Oh my. I’ve never done that either.”
“Surely you have touched yourself,” I said.
She smiled shyly and said, “Now and then but I’ve never tasted.”
I said, “I would like to taste more” and moved my head down to her belly and slowly licked it. I rearranged my body and moved my head even lower, nuzzling my nose through her thick mass of pubic hair.
“What are thee doing?” she asked.
“I am hungry for your taste, for your very essence.”
“Do you really want to taste me, there?”
“Madame I mean to dine on your sweet divine. The first taste was just an appetizer and I’m eager for a meal.”
“Alright poet man if it will make thee happy.”
“No, my dear, the object is to make you happy.”
With that I moved between her legs and kneeling down began to trail kisses up one leg and then the other getting closer to my goal with each passage. Finally I gently took her labia in my fingers and, spreading them apart, inserted my tongue, going where, apparently, no tongue had ever gone before.
“Oh Jerry, oh Jerry, oh Jerry.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Heavens no. I may not ever want thee to stop.”
Reassured, my tongue quickly found her clit which protruded nicely for easy access. I quickly captured it between my tongue and upper lip and began to suck and nibble and I inserted my middle finger into her vagina and began searching for her G spot. Her gasps and cries soon told me I had found it. I sucked and nibbled, stroked and probed and soon she began to moan louder and thrust her pelvis up and down and then, with a catch in her voice she cried out, “Oh God, Oh God, Oh Sweet Jesus.” I continued to lovingly lap at her and she reached down and, grasping my head with both hands she said, “Please stop. I fear I may die.”
“Not entirely a bad way to go,” I said, laughingly.
I moved back up beside her and kissed her sweetly. She caught her breath and said, “I have never felt so good in all my born days. I believe I just had what they call an orgasm. But whatever they call it, it was wonderful.”
“Always glad to be of service,” I said.
“Thee can service me thusly anytime thee desires. And we have the opportunity.”
“Madame I will hold you to it.”
She laughed and said “I hope that’s not an idle promise.”
“My dear, that’s a solemn vow.”
She reached down and touched my cock, tentatively at first but then with more vigor.
“Would thee like to service me another way?” she asked.
“Indeed I would,” I replied.
She spread her legs and moved between them and slowly began to stroke my hard cock up and down her moist passage.
“Allow me,” she said and reaching down took hold of my cock and resumed stroking it up and down, Between her moist secretions and my pre-cum it was quickly lubricated.
“Would thee like to come inside?”
“Show me the way.”
She moved her hips slightly and placed my cock right at her entrance.
“Fuck me,” she said.
“I never thought I would hear you say that word,” I said.
“I never thought I would say it either. It always seemed to be such a crude expression but then, after today, many things may no longer be as they seemed.”
“Say it again.”
“Fuck me, Jerry, fuck me.”
“Gladly.”
I thrust into her to the hilt. She was warm and wet and accommodating. I groaned and said, “Lover I may not be able to do this very long. You feel so good and it’s been a long time since I’ve made love to a woman.”
“I never thought I’d hear thee say that word,” she said, “but I had come to hope for it.”
“Speaking of coming I am about to do the same.”
“Come for me, lover. Come for me. Fill me up with thy sweet juices.”
With one last lunge and gasp I did. She smiled up at me contentedly and asked, “Was that good for thee?”
“Good hardly describes it.”
“Then that’s good. That’s very good.”
I laid down beside her again, stretching out, relaxing, totally spent and immensely satisfied. Perhaps we dozed for a few minutes and then I got up and said, “The sun is about to go down and we’d best head back to the wagon train.”
She sighed and said, “I hate to leave this place. This wonderful, peaceful, fulfilling place.”
“We can come back tomorrow,” I said.
“Indeed we can,” she replied. “We can come back here tomorrow and, God willing, we can come in many places.”
“Clara you are becoming positively wicked.”
“I fear that I have had excellent instruction,” she said with a laugh.
We dressed and rode back to camp. We enjoyed a hearty, well-deserved dinner and after dinner I went to my valise and brought out a cigar and a bottle of brandy. She raised her eyebrows and said, “I didn’t know that you smoked and drank.”
“Only on special occasions.”
“And was today a special occasion?”
“An occasion to surpass all other occasions.”
“Oh my sweet and gentle poet man.”
We bedded down side by side under the wagon and soon fell into deep and replenishing sleep. We awoke to another bright late Autumn day. Word quickly spread through the camp that we were staying on for another day. After lunch I took Clara’s hand and said, “Are you ready for another ride?”
She laughed and said, “If it’s anything like yesterday’s ride I most certainly am.”
We giggled and quickly put our things on my horse and returned to our peaceful lagoon. We looked around to see that we were alone and began to undress. This time there was no modesty. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. When we were naked she picked up the soap, took my hand and led me into the water.
“Two baths in two days? The height of luxury,” I said.
“Gather thee rosebuds while thee may,” she said. “And this time we will scrub each other’s backs and fronts.”
“Woman you are an evil influence.”
“And thee are a most persuasive influencer.”
We walked into the water and played for a bit and then began to lovingly wash each other. She seemed to pay particular attention to my cock, scrubbing it vigorously and laughing as it stiffened.
“Madame, what is on your mind,” I asked.
“Thee shall see,” she replied.
We retired to the quilt and began to slowly kiss and caress. She seemed fascinated with my cock, examining it from all angles.
“Do you like my cock?” I asked.
“I believe like is not a strong enough expression.”
“It is now your cock,” I said. “Do with it what you will.”
“I want to pleasure thee as you dids’t pleasure me, if that is okay with thee.”
I laughed and said, “Better that I pleasure you first. After you pleasure me I may not have the strength to pleasure you.”
She laughed and said, “Be my guest.. I believe thee knows the way.”
This time I wasted little time, anticipating what was to come. I moved between her outstretched legs and, finding a familiar trail, quickly tongued and stroked her to orgasm.
I stopped and she said, “Two orgasms in two days. Thee are spoiling me.”
“Madame you are extremely spoilable.”
“Now, let me pleasure thee. I have never done this before although it has crossed my mind from time to time but my dear, late husband was a very conventional man. Perhaps you will have to instruct me.”
“Sweet Clara, I believe no instruction is necessary. Just do what comes naturally.”
She smiled and reaching down began to fondle and inspect my penis.
“A man’s penis is a curious thing,” she said. “So soft and flaccid most of the time but so ready to rear up when the occasion presents itself. It appears that the occasion has, indeed, presented itself. I have read that it is caused by blood rushing into the veins.”
“That may be the medical reason but today it’s caused by the loving hands of a sweet and loving woman,” I said.
“I hope always to be thy sweet and loving woman as long as thee wishes.”
“Madame your job application has been extensively reviewed and eagerly accepted.”
“Then I best get right to work,” she said.
She moved down closer to my cock and looked at it intently. Then she dropped a hand and said, “May I touch thy testicles? Or should I call them balls?”
“Call them whatever you like, my dear, but touch them gently. They are referred to as the family jewels.”
“Rare heirlooms I am sure. I believe I just made a joke. They are, after all, where the heirs are loomed. Anyway they’re so delightfully large and, may I say, fluffy. May I kiss them.”
“You may.”
She stuck out a tentative tongue and began to lick my balls while continuing to stroke my cock. The pre-cum was beginning to flow. “What is this called?” she asked.
“What is what called.”
“This clear fluid that is oozing from your, uh, cock.”
“It probably has a medical term, probably in Latin, but it’s usually referred to as pre-cum.”
“Pre-cum. What an apt description. I take it that means thee are ready to come?”
“Madame I have never been readier.”
“Thy balls taste good. I wonder what thy penis, thy cock, tastes like.”
“Dine at your leisure.”
“Thank you, kind sir. I believe I shall.”
She moved her tongue from my balls and slowly licked up the bottom of my cock. “It tastes good,” she said “and it smells faintly of lilacs and some other smells and tastes I can’t describe But it’s all together rather pleasant. Do all men taste like this?”
“You are asking the wrong person that, my lady, my love but I’m glad you enjoy the taste of me.”
“Oh, I believe I enjoy it very much. And I want more.”
Then she took my cock fully into her eager mouth and began to suck. She stopped and said, “How am I doing so far?”
“You’re doing splendidly. Now take your tongue and lovingly lick just on the underside beneath the crown.”
She laughed and said, “First the family jewels and now the crown. My aren’t we regal.”
“Be quiet, wench, and get back to work,” I said jokingly.
She chuckled and stuck out her tongue and licked just under the crown. “Is this the place, Master?”
I groaned.
“I will take that as an affirmative.”
She continued to tease the head of my cock with her tongue, occasionally taking it all the way in and sucking. She continued to fondle my balls.
“Oh Clara, dear sweet Clara, I’m going to cum!”
She took her mouth off of cock and said, “I want to watch thee come.” She continued stroking my cock with one sure hand and fondling my balls with the other and soon my cock began to spurt. Not as much cum as the day before but a goodly amount.
“Ooh that was exciting. That was exciting. I’ve never seen that before either. Of course I’ve felt a man come but I’ve never actually seen it. I’m discovering new and exciting things every day.”
“Yes indeed,” I said and we’re not yet halfway to Oregon.