Opening Weekend

Opening Weekend

Just a fun little story that kind of aligns with an Opening Weekend encounter I observed. Have fun!

****

Their first clue should have been the caravans of pickups towing travel trailers that began over a month ago. The second should have been the pickups hauling flatbed trailers loaded with ATVs and bags of corn that had been arriving for several weeks. They had remarked about hunting season being the first weekend of November and how that day constituted the one day of traffic congestion in their little town.

Those clues never crossed their minds when Beverly called on Wednesday to propose girls night out on Saturday. Jamie drank infrequently and lightly, so she agreed to pick her friends up at their homes and drive to their favorite wine bar. They were excitedly chatting when they saw that cars and trucks were parked on both sides of the road, and every outdoor table was surrounded by loud revelers.

They rode by, gawked, and the light came on: "It's opening weekend!" they chorused. Donna laughed, "I could smell the testosterone when I opened the window, although there were quite a few locals there too, mostly the single hos like me! So what do we do?"

"I'm afraid every wine bar, beer joint, and club will be filled to overflowing," Bev offered. "My suggestion is Club 87; they have both indoor and outdoor seating, so we should be able to get a table."

Jamie drove around the town square to the club, and parked in back with the regulars and workers. It was a perfect night after a warm day, with temps dropping into the sixties after dark. The three-quarter moon cast a soft glow as they walked across the dirt parking area and entered the club through the back entrance.

It was noisy and packed with people; no open tables were in sight. "Let's try the barn; I think they have a band out there beginning at eight tonight, so it may not be too crowded yet," Bev suggested.

"Can't be more crowded than this," Jamie replied, and led them down the hallway to the outdoor seating and the dance barn. Their brief passage through the bar and into the hallway didn't go unnoticed.

"Say, Miss Tina, where does that hallway go?" Ed asked their server when she finished distributing their drinks.

"Oh, there are more restrooms down there, and then you can exit to the outdoor area. It has a fire pit, a lot more seating than inside, and a place to dance. We have a band that opens in about an hour, and that will draw a crowd. It's mostly younger people because the band plays a lot of country rock too, but if you like to two-step, line dance, or rock, they do a good job."

"Do we get to keep you as our waitress?" Terry flirted. "Your long legs and those cutoffs will be hard to give up!"

She chuckled and replied, "I'd like to, because you guys are good tippers, but if you want to get moon burned I'll turn you over to Sam. She's much shorter, but... ever heard the term 'built like a brick shithouse?' That's Samantha."

Ed stopped her midway through her turn to another table. "One more question: who are the three ladies that walked in and turned down that hallway while you were bringing our beer?"

"I knew you hounds noticed them! The cutie with highlighted brown hair wearing the white blouse and golden suede mini with matching boots is Jamie. She's married; her husband is some big shot in a state agency. They live in a townhome in Austin, but own a very nice house here. He supposedly works twelve hours six days a week and can't get off, so she comes every few weeks up to check on their house and take care of things. But she's staying longer and longer and spends more time at wine bars. We suspected trouble in paradise, and on her last trip up here she drank a little too much and spilled. My guess is she will be free soon, and may feel that way now.

"The stacked redhead in the denim mini and low-cut sweater is Donna; she's somewhat newly single and came out of the divorce with most of their assets because hubby was cheating and they had a pre-nup. She lives in a nice house on the edge of town, has some acreage, and raises horses. The one with the raven hair wearing the black leather mini and boots is Bev - Beverly. She's still married but everyone, including her, knows he's cheating with their 18-year-old neighbor, and probably his 22 year-old PA. I hear she hired someone to get proof, and then he's gone."

She looked at the six attentive faces and said, "So, a replay for you predatory hunters: you have one married but lonely looker; a hot red-haired divorcee who's trolling; and a gorgeous housewife who knows her husband is cheating. Ya, the odds are better out there than in here with one skinny, long-legged waitress and a room full of couples and hard dicks; and they sure won't be the only singles out there when the music starts!"

Outside, in the sixty-three degree coolness of the November night: "Standing in front of this bar, I'm thinking Sex on the Beach instead of wine - what do you girls think?"

Jamie chuckled, "A Colorado Bulldog does sound good," and Bev concurred. "Make mine a Strawberry Margarita with Don Julio Blanco."

The bartender didn't hesitate at the unusual orders; she mixed the drinks, set them on the bar, and asked, "Run a tab?" Donna replied yes, gave her a card, and they made their way to an open table beside the glowing fire pit. "Umm, this is even better than our usual Sangria Slush at the wine bar," Jamie opined, drawing murmurs of agreement.

The musicians were turning instruments on the bandstand in the barn, the moon was shining down, the embers cast their heat into the cool air, and Beverly had a moment of melancholy. "Remember when we were here with our husbands? They were regaling us with the story of Danny's dead buck that got up and ran off, and we were all drinking margaritas. We talked, laughed, danced: who would have thought that two short years later we'd be here alone; one divorced, one soon to be divorced, and a work widow."

With a serious and sad look on her pretty face, Jamie started to answer, but Donna cut her off. She leaned forward, and in a low voice interjected, "No! Just No! We're not here to dig up bones! We're here to have some fun, so don't rehash YET AGAIN what we've already hashed a few dozen times! Talk about the moon, the band, your school kids, Beverly, or your remodeling project, Jamie, but don't spend one minute of our time tonight on men who didn't appreciate what they had!"

Redirected, Bev mentioned that she heard tonight's band when they played at the Llano Crawfish Festival in the spring, and thought they were good. "It's a good thing we wore boots, even if they are heeled knee-highs; lots of boot scooting, line dancing, and rocking with the Limestone Cowboys, and I imagine a lot of our partners will have two left feet and an alcohol impairment by nine, if they don't already!

"You're suede toes may get roughed up, Jamie, but at least they'll be protected!"

"I can't believe we dressed to impress the sophisticates at the wine bar and ended up at a country barn dance! We need to leave before it gets too out of hand, or Bev and I will be making tongues wag all over town."

"It's your car, but I'm going to see what's available tonight before I even thing about heading home to an empty bed... oh wait! All three of us face cold empty beds! Which reminds me: where are George and Randy supposed to be this weekend?"

Beverly's bitterness showed in her sarcastic answer: "Randy's staying at the ranch with the hunters. He and sweet little Angie are guiding and cooking all weekend! But I don't worry; they sleep in separate bedrooms in the main house, don't ya know!"

"Trust but verify?" Jamie asked.

"No trust at all, but the cameras my PI installed will hang his sorry ass, and embarrass the slut-in-training too! Bet the cheerleader sponsor has a meeting with her sometime next week about that clause in their handbook - something about 'not bringing embarrassment or dishonor to the organization,' I think."

Donna and Jamie raised a hand and exchanged high fives with Bev, whose shame at losing her man to an eighteen-year-old high school cheerleader was exceeded only by her rage at her cheating husband.

Meanwhile, the 'gentlemen' had proceeded down the hallway, stopped at the restroom and then the bar, scoped out the growing crowd, and were watching potential targets from a distance. "What are the pretty ladies at that table by the fire drinking?"

"Exotic and expensive mixed drinks; why, you wanna buy them a round?" the barkeep replied.

"I do. Want us to pay for each round, or open a tab?"

"I don't know you, moneybags, but I assume you and the rest of these are out-of-town hunters, so give me a credit card and a name and I'll open an account."

She took the card he offered, sucked in a breath with a low whistle, and commented, "Well, I guess I nailed the 'moneybags' tag: a JP Morgan Chase Reserve card! I haven't seen one of those since I quit bartending at the Driskill."

Ed shrugged and replied, "I'm no billionaire, but I do all right for a country boy. Anyway, I think that will cover their 'expensive drinks' and our beer for the night. Want me to deliver their drinks?"

"Nope, they're like a covey of quail; you showing up with a round will spook them and they'll fly off. You and a couple of others take that other table by the firepit, and have the other three grab a table for twelve in the barn. I suspect you wily bucks will have some success attracting does tonight."

She sighed, stopped mixing drinks, looked him in the eyes, and said, "I'm afraid to even ask, but how many of you have wives and kids waiting back home?"

"Four of us have kids, but only one of us has a wife... for about three more weeks."

She looked stunned, then said, "That's a story I'd like to hear... I think."

"Probably not, and I dang sure don't want to tell it. Maybe later, if you keep the drinks flowing enough to get me shitfaced, and, by the way, there's a 100% tip if you make us a priority."

Ed, Chris, and TJ wandered over to the vacant table, warmed their hands on the fire, and took seats. TJ told them again about the high-horned buck he saw in the brush but couldn't get a shot at, and Chris commiserated. Ed let his eyes wander to the table with the beauties and enjoyed watching their animated conversation.

All three were gorgeous, and he'd have trouble choosing if they all accosted him. The auburn one, Donna, was definitely stacked, she was vivacious, and she knew he was watching. The taller one with raven hair was a fascinating convergence of sexuality, reserve, and pissed-off. Her husband was going to pay a steep price when the bill came due.

The other one was not as outstanding, either in personality or sexuality, but she had a certain je ne Sais quo that captivated him. He could only see her in profile, but in profile she was perfect: chin, nose, forehead, hair. Refined features, slender, stylishly dressed, and amicable, at least with her friends; there was just something about her...

Donna said something to her; she turned and caught him looking. Rather than act embarrassed, he raised his beer in acknowledgement and smiled a friendly, not predatory, smile. She nodded and turned away.

The bartender chose that moment to deliver their drinks, and to tell them he bought the round. They asked her a few questions but her back was to him and they spoke quietly, so he had no idea what was asked or answered. In any case, when they accepted the drinks the redhead turned to him, smiled, and raised her drink in acknowledgement. The raven haired beauty with the attitude also raised her glass, though a smile did not soften her face.

The one with the perfect profile looked at him, raised her glass, and smiled when he pointed his beer toward her. Her smile grew, and she summoned him with her fingers, pointing to a chair nearer the fire. He was surprised, but didn't waste a second moving to the vacant chair. He remained standing, introduced himself as Ed Sharpe of Cypress, and waited for their responses. They gave first names only, but that wasn't unexpected; he bought them a round, but there were dozens of others who would eagerly have done the same thing. He was nothing special, at least not yet.

Jamie asked him if he'd like to join them, laughingly saying they needed a fresh face with fresh stories, or they would ruin their own night out with stories of cheating asshole husbands. Ed let the chuckling die down before leaning forward and sarcastically offering "I can do that. I can share stories of my cheating asshole wife. Would that help?"

Bev looked appalled, Donna laughed, and Jamie hit him on the forearm. "Okay, you've shown us up, now what?"

"Well, my bio is: 33 years old, 5'10" 200, I have a wife for three more weeks, and I have a ten-year-old son and an eight-year-old daughter. Stereotypically, my stay at home wife took up with her personal trainer, who is 22 to her 32. He's also 6'3" 220 pounds of muscle, dumb as a box of rocks, and intent on spreading my cuck status by word of mouth. He thinks he's about to inherit our home and half my business, but neither are community property, according to the prenuptial agreement we signed when we got married twelve years ago.

"I own my own company, make a decent amount of money per year, and I'm not quite butt ugly. I am, however, a prophet, and I predict that when reality hits their taut, muscular asses in three weeks, there is going to be instant regret on both parts. One, no children so no child support she can spend on herself. Two, her support is only $2000 per month for two years. As the judge said, 'You have a perfectly good college degree you can put to work.' And three, the house was mine for a year before we met, so she's in an apartment she can barely afford because it turned out she was only one of the married sluts her PT was banging, so he didn't want her stifling his more lucrative side job in his apartment.

"Now, have I sufficiently ruined your night? Would you like for me to return to my buddies over there, or should I invite them over? Both have been divorced for more than a year, so they are better company than I am."

He could tell by their faces that was going to be a split decision, but the unexpected happened; Beverly interjected, "Go get your friends. You're still in the bitter stage, like the three of us; perhaps they can shed some light on where we go from here."

He turned his head, whistled softly, and beckoned his friends with a wave. They were immediately present, and introductions began. Again, the women offered no last names, but David Jenkins and Lee Tarver did. David was medium height and lean, but muscular, while Lee was 'a big ol' boy,' standing 6'3" and over 250 pounds. For all that, he was handsome in a boyish way, while David looked like a Native American, with his straight black hair and dark skin.

They sat on either side of me, and group conversations broke out. No talk of marital woes, but rather 'where do you hunt - who's the owner - do you hunt only deer there, or are there exotics, birds, etc.'

All were attractive, so having a conversation wasn't a chore, no matter the topic. We talked for the better part of a half hour before we heard the fiddler tuning up. We invited them to sit at our table in the barn-like structure, to which they agreed. We walked over en masse, found our friends, and joined them and the companions they had acquired in the interim. The six women knew each other, and traded funny stories about how they ended up here, with both groups saying it was avoiding 'hos like y'all' that drove their decisions.

With his ridiculously simplistic but usually effective line of bullshit, Johnny turned that into fate bringing them to us, which got him a bunch of boos and calls of bullshit! But to me it looked like most of them were wondering - hope springs eternal, I guess.

Bev wondered; she looked at me, blushed, and turned back away. Maybe she felt I was a kindred spirit, given how our spouses fucked us over. Or maybe she wondered if I could help her organize her divorce.

Don't ask me - I'm shit at trying to understand women!

But I'm not so clueless that I don't recognize her interest in me. Again, that's strange, because I'm not in her class in looks or personality, and I'm still in the 'fuck women but don't fall for their shit' stage after divorce, and she knows it. Or maybe that's what she finds attractive. Maybe she just wants a good fucking. Who knows?

The country/folk/blues band ended conversation for the next hour, and the 'jukebox' kept us dancing during the break. By the mid-point of the second hour, I was taking breaks, for a few reasons not associated with my poor conditioning. First, everyone was dancing with everyone, in kind of a 'Sadie Hawkins' way; women were asking men more often than the other way, and it was happening before you could even get off the dance floor! Fifteen years ago that would have been fine, but I'm older and set in my ways.

Second, some of the women were too drunk to dance well, and it turned into a sexual encounter cum wrestling match on the floor, in front of God and everyone. Again, fifteen years ago...

Third, I'd already fallen out of love with Beverly, who didn't distinguish between dance partners at all. I mean, she danced close enough for me to enjoy her soft breasts against my chest and her belly rubbing on mine, and her mons on my hard cock, but she did the same with each man. Or so it appeared.

And finally, my beers were getting hot before I downed them, and a new character had entered our play that was a lot more discriminating. In fact, she came in holding a drink, moved a chair to our table, and sat down. That she was right beside my beer caught my attention, as did her rejection of everyone except a few older, married locals when asked to dance.

I kept an eye on her when I could, but conditions on the dance floor made it difficult. Mostly, I had seen her from a distance, but I got a closeup when our dancing paths crossed. She wasn't some spectacular beauty; in fact, empirically, she wasn't as beautiful as several members of our female party. Yet, her sparkling green eyes fascinated me when up close, and I greatly appreciated her silhouette from a distance - both facial and body.

Even more, she wore a short skirt that flared over her exceptional butt, and displayed a very, very nice pair of stems. Her blouse and sweater vest didn't indicate she had much up there, but since breasts intrigue me less than legs, ass, belly, graceful carriage, and a 'happy' face, and I consider good humor, a pleasant personality, and character more important than beauty or body, I found her very attractive.

I begged off the next dance in favor of a run to the potty, I drained the lizard, washed my hands like mommy taught me, and snuck inside to get a beer and information from my favorite waitress, Tina. She got my beer, looked me in the eye and asked, "Who now? The wavy-haired blonde that arrived late, I presume."

I nodded, holding a folded fifty dollar bill under my beer. "I thought so. You seem to like the most difficult ones. Bet you cull bucks others would love to shoot, don't you?"

I just grinned. "Her name is Jeanie Bailey. She was married, but I'm not sure about now. As far as I could tell, her husband was Ebenezer Grinch, or maybe Hans Gruber, or perhaps he was more like Commodus from Gladiator. In any case, he's ill tempered, surly, demanding, and jealous to the N'th degree, so I was glad to see her walk in without him. She's a sweetheart who married her college boyfriend and discovered he wasn't what he seemed.

"They aren't natives - he's from Austin and she's from San Antonio, like her aunt. Ruth has lived here for so many years she's almost considered one of us. Anyway, she's an even more difficult target than Beverly."

I was in one of those moods where you speak and then think, so I opined, "Not sure how hard Beverly is. She was rubbing that tight little body all over me... and everybody else she danced with!"

"Oh, so the rich man is a snob, and a judgmental prick too! I do the same when I'm out there! All you guys love to pull us in and rub your cocks on us, but God forbid if we rub back - then we're sluts! Keep you fucking fifty, asshole, and don't expect service from me again!"

Properly chastised, I slipped the fifty in her tip jar after she stormed off, and went out to meet Jeanie Bailey. She was just returning from a dance, and I watched as she turned her beer up. I caught the label, ordered one from the outside bar, and wandered over to my chair. Without sitting, I extended the beer and said, "I saw you were out and brought you one. This is where I was sitting, so I'm not just trying to hit on you."

That smile made that pretty face light up, and vaulted her into Top 10% status in my scoring system. Just so you know, I'm only in the 60th percentile in my system, so she was far above me, and yet approachable. I gestured with a question mark, and she gestured that I should sit. "It's your chair, so of course you can sit in it. I'm don't look that Victorian, do I."

"No, but I just got my ass chewed out by Tina inside, so I'm a little gun shy." I replied as I sat down gingerly.

She laughed. "Yeah, my ex experienced Tina's wrath over a condescending remark he made, and would never come back! At least you didn't run away with your tail between your legs!"

I whimpered like a puppy, then said, "But it did hurt! She's scary!"

She laughed out loud at that, and asked me what I said to gain her wrath. "I'd rather not admit it, but she was right! It was an asshole pronouncement that I regretted as soon as it left my mouth, and she was 100% correct to call me on it. I'm a total man sometimes, though I try to control it."

She subtly looked me over, before shaking her head in agreement, and saying, "I can see that. Not really a 21st century male yet, are you? Think it will ever happen?"

"That's certainly up in the air, though I think I have some redeeming characteristics from my nineteenth century upbringing. I'm generally kind and generous, love doggies, kitties, and little children, appreciate a well-turned ankle, and graceful, gracious women of distinction and character. I'm not all bad."

I got that smile again. "Not much to hate there, even if you do apparently revert from time to time. Now for the big question - can you dance?"

I escorted her to a relatively open area and put her through a series of turns, spins, and twirls that she navigated with grace and aplomb. When the song ended, she held me in place and said, "Okay, so you can dance swing - can you two step?"

I can, and I proved it. I can also Boogie and Bop, and do the Cotton-Eyed Joe, all of which she also did with grace and aplomb. She could also snuggle and slow dance, which she proved when the band played the Everly Brother's classic, "Dream."

We got some looks, and I got some glares, but she seemed oblivious and I DNGAF, so we danced, talked, drank beers sparingly, and danced some more. It turned out I already knew her Aunt Ruth, whom I met at a little beer joint about 15 miles east of town. Jeanie was excited by that news, and invited me to come drink coffee with them tomorrow after the morning hunt.

My intentions were to hunt, hopefully kill something I had to take to town to be processed, go back and fill the feeders, take a nap, and hunt again. But drinking coffee with Aunt Ruth and Jeanie easily topped those plans, so I adjusted. "I climb out of my ground blind about eight. It's only a few miles from there to your aunt's house, so 8:30-9:00? Assuming I don't kill The Stag."

That worked fine for them - she wanted to sleep in anyway. "Speaking of, I'm exhausted. I don't know why I even stopped for a beer and music when I'm this tired, but I'm glad I did," she said with that smile.

"Then it must have been fate," I offered, cribbing from my buddy. She smiled at that too, and said, "We'll see. Hasta mañana!"

"Adiós! Vaya con Diós!" I replied, telling her to go with God on her trip to her aunt's house. That was overly dramatic, given the short trip, but unless she understood the nuances of Spanish she would only hear and translate the words.

That glowing smile told me that she did just that. She started her Tahoe and drove away, offering a quick wave out the window as she left the lot. That was it for me too, so I sent a group text saying I went to the trailer so everyone should find a ride, of which there would be plenty.

Some woke me when they came in later, and some hadn't come back before I went to the blind. I'm not a fan of hunting from towers overlooking feeders like our owner provides, so I make a ground blind among the brush, tasajilla, and prickly pear. It's 152 yards from a deer trail leading to water, and the larger bucks often chase their 'in season' does along this path. I don't shoot often, never shoot young bucks, regardless of size of their antlers, and when I do shoot, I'm helping cull the herd of deer in decline, or those with poor genes to pass on.

You know what? The venison all tastes the same, if you process it and prepare it correctly. Having bigger antlers does not make the loins taste better, or make better sausage or chili meat. The other hunters in our crew aren't as meticulous as I, but no one shoots young, in-their-prime bucks! Big no no, and the owner would ban you if I didn't! It's my lease; the others sublease from me, so I have the final say on everything, and they know how I feel about destroying the gene pool for a head mount!

It was warm and still, and nothing was moving, so I quit early and showed up early for my coffee. Jeanie had on her pajamas, composed of matching shorts and button-up shirt. Her hair was mussy, she wore no makeup, and surprise at my early appearance showed on her face. But Ruth saw me first, waved me onto the porch, gave me a hug, and went to get me a cup. Jeanie's pink houseshoes were up on the porch railing, so I got a great look at her legs in the sunlight. We greeted each other, I took a seat facing her and Ruth, and I had to explain why I was early while we sipped.

"Bret says you're the best hunter he's ever had, and you ramrod your bunch like a trail master. They all seem decent enough, so why do they need a ramrod?"

"They don't, but we do need a final arbiter. Take aging deer. If someone sees a nice buck of indeterminate age coming to his feeder, he asks me to sit with him and decide. Usually they are right, but it's not always about recognizing certain features, like a long jaw. I make the call, and I fade the heat with Bret if it's the wrong one. So it's not like I'm a dictator or something."

Jeanie was watching the skyline and sipping, carelessly showing me her shapely, golden legs and her pretty face in profile. She was tan where I could see, but in that way some dirty blondes tan to a golden brown. Neither she nor Ruth could help but notice my attention being on her, but nothing was said, or acknowledged.

"So, Jeanie came home last night and told me she stopped for a beer and a dance. She also mentioned she had met you, and you were coming for coffee, maybe, if you didn't kill something gigantic. Something going on here that I should know about?"

"What do you mean, Ruth? I met a pretty woman who invited me to coffee. Do you need more than that?" I replied with a sly grin matching hers. Jeanie still ignored us, but I knew she wasn't, so I decided to involve her.

"I mean, look at those lovely legs, that pretty face in profile. How could a man decline an invitation from someone like that?"

Her lips spread into a smile, but she continued to enjoy the view and refused to respond. Aunt Ruth, however, did respond. "A man would have to be a fool, and since you're here, it proves you aren't. Your sparkling personality seems lost on her, however; she still hasn't acknowledged your existence."

"She will soon; she's almost out of coffee. See the way she has to tilt the cup up? Oh, to be that coffee cup, and be resting against those lips!"

A second earlier and she would have spit coffee all over those shapely legs, but she had swallowed, so she just burst out in laughter, put her feet down, and finally, turned toward us.

"My aunt warned me about you, but that was classic! Are you always this full of shit?"

I acted hurt, pouted, and then answered, "Mademoiselle, your harsh assessment injures my delicate sensibilities! However, I'll offer you an opportunity to make it up to me. Wear your pajamas, or change into your shortest shorts, and let me show you around our lease. Or better yet, you and Auntie Ruth can show me around the Klattenhoff Ranch! Those are the only ways you can salve my wounds."

They both laughed, and Ruth said, "Come on, niece; let's change into our short shorts and show the sweet man around."

To be honest, I'd have happily done Aunt Ruth after seeing her in sandals, shorts, and a halter top. After all, she was Jeanie's youngest aunt and was only in her mid-forties. She led them out, and there was a moment when I thought I'd be happy to get lucky with either one! But that was before her 27 year-old niece strolled out and captured my heart... or at least my lustful attention!

No, seriously, she still wasn't a model or movie starlet, but she was the girl next door of your dreams. Dirty blonde hair pulled back into a bouncy ponytail that ended mid-back; an erect, graceful posture with a sculpted neck and shoulders; a robust and balanced physique; and the 35-24-35 figure every woman wants and so few have. Her tits and ass weren't remarkably big, but fit her 5'5" body, and my preferences, perfectly! I like a nice round ass, but not a Kardasian ass that will need a wheelbarrow at age 50.

For Ruth, you'd have to add an inch or two to every measurement, but ranch work kept her firm and in remarkable shape. I really, really would like to do her! But I want to do her niece more!

"What's the matter - cat got your silver tongue?" Ruth teased.

"Whew! You ladies take my breath away! My goodness, what nice curves, shapely legs, and facial features! Very, very nice! This is going to be one of my favorites trips!"

Jeanie blew me off again, ignoring my flattery and climbing into the passenger seat of her aunt's truck, leaving me to sit in the back and lean over the front seat so I could see those gorgeous gams and side views of those very nice ta-tas.

I'm always a horndog, but rarely this blatant. That's because they didn't seem to mind, and I'm having visions of a taboo threesome. The more blatant I get, the more they prance, pose, and showoff, and the more they showoff the harder I get.

As the tour proceeded into valleys and onto hilltops, I learned that they had pastures of Spanish meat goats, as well as of cattle and horses. The horses in the fields near the barn were training to become barrel horses, roping horses, trail horses, or children's horses. The young horses roaming the pastures were prospects that would enter training when deemed ready.

Ruth and her Segundo were expert horsemen, and skilled in training as well. Theirs was a labor of love and a source of income needed to keep the ranch afloat.

There were two large hay fields, but they were overgrown with weeds, and brush was creeping in. That was a shame, because it appeared at one time they grew horse-quality coastal Bermuda grass, or some local variation of that strain. I asked, and was told it cost too much to keep all the necessary farming equipment running, fertilize, and weed, and no one on the ranch was a farmer. Plus, without irrigation, they had to pray for rain, and their prayers were infrequently answered.

I asked about the possibility of drilling a well and going to center pivot irrigation. She laughed. "There's good water down there, but I don't have the money to drill the well or buy the irrigation system, and I don't need another headache anyway. No, farming died with Bill, and neither is coming back."

Like everyone in the area, I knew Bill's story. A minor injury that wouldn't heal, a visit to his primary care doctor, who ordered tests, and then the grim news that sent him to the oncologist. He fought the good fight, but died at 42 of a form of cancer almost never found outside Africa, which he had never visited. He was a well known man in his community, but a famous man worldwide to medical doctors, especially oncologists.

Ruth was heartbroken and almost lost the ranch before she recovered and did what had to be done. That was three years ago, and she had recovered her winsome personality and can-do attitude. She never dated, in spite the urging of her grown kids, but had myriad would-be suitors.

Jeanie's story was different, I learned from Ruth when she sent Jeanie on an errand.

Barry was a business major who played in a garage band that fancied itself the successor to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. She thought being married to a city administrator who played in a band was fun... for a while. But when the mid-twenties hit and he wouldn't consider kids, she began to stay home and/or go have fun with friends. He became jealous and controlling, then verbally abusive. When he added physically abusive and threatening, she got an order of protection and filed for divorce.

He called her a lot of names and made a bunch of promises about how bad she would feel when he was rich, famous, and touring the world. So far, none of his promises had come true, but they were still writing music and playing it in that garage, the last she heard.

The divorce was nearly two years ago, and she had been dating for the last year without having found anyone special. She's quick on the trigger; one or two dates and you're history, per Ruth, who advises pulling out all the stops or getting sent home.

Jeanie comes back to the pickup after running an errand in the barn for Ruth, looks at us, and says, "I knew my ears were burning for some reason! What have you two been saying about me?"

Unabashed, Ruth replied, "The reasons behind your divorce and your poor selection of men, generally. I figure Ed here needs to know what comes with the pretty package he likes so much.

"And don't give me that look - you two would have wasted your first two or three dates trying to decide when to tell your stories, so I'm cutting to the chase so you can get on with your dating without your pasts hanging over you!

"Ed, I know your story, but tell it to Jeanie here so you'll be even."

I took one look into those cold green eyes and spilled it all. "My stay at home wife took up with her personal trainer, who is 22 to her 32. He's also 6'3" 220 pounds of muscle, dumb as a box of rocks, and intent on spreading my cuck status to all his clients. He thinks he's about to inherit our home and half of my business, but neither are community property, according to the prenuptial agreement we signed when we got married ten years ago, and that I've updated annually.

"Together, they have the IQ of a mockingbird, because neither bothered to check in with reality before making plans to spend my money. Other than a $2000 per month support payment for two years, she's getting nothing, so she's going to have to use her college degree in Interior Design, like the judge told her to do, or find someone else with money who is willing to support her. She thought her muscleman would, but it turned out she was only one of the married sluts he was banging, so he didn't want her stifling his more lucrative side job by living in his apartment.

"So there you have it. Key points: first I wasn't cheating, she was. Second, I never cheated on her. Third, I'm far from destitute, and fourth, I'm as poor a selector of women as Jeanie is of men, so it would be pleasantly ironic if it turned out we were just right for each other."

Ruth laughed. "I was worried you sounded a little harsh toward your loving wife there at first, but you came around as you explained. Jeanie had a pre-nup too, and it gave her, the innocent party, a 70-30 split, and their home."

Jeanie interjected, "So your wife got nothing?"

I sighed. "Not in court, but her parents and I were close. When the divorce is complete in 20 days, I'm writing them a check for $200,000 to put in a 'trust account' for her. She doesn't know about the money that her parents control. This was a way we could keep her from sleeping in the street, or working street corners, without giving her a chance to spend it all buying a new car and more clothes that she won't need for years to come!

"Yeah, I know, I'm an idiot, but I was happy with her for nine years. As it turns out, I wouldn't have been if I actually knew what was going on, but anyway... yeah, I'm an idiot."

Jeanie's eyes grew soft - she seemed to like that ending more than the BTB ending I tried to make it look like so her next man wouldn't suffer like me. But I'm an idiot, and I just had to be a pussy too!

Then, to change the emotional environment, I teased "You can't count last night or this morning as dates, Quick Draw. 'Dates' are when I ask you out, you agree, I pick you up or we meet, and we do something fun together. I think I should get two of those before you toss me into the excrement pit! Can we agree on that?"

"I'm not counting last night or this morning as dates because it doesn't matter! When you ask me out I'm going to tell you 'no' anyway. In spite of your daydreams, I already saw beyond the façade and decided answering 'yes' to anything you propose is a bad idea."

I got a hang dog look, saw Ruth grinning, and wondered how I got on her bad side too. Then Jeanie smirked. "Now that we got that straightened out, want to go on a date with me tonight?"

Okay, she fooled the crap out of me, but I'm a quick study. "I'm not sure where saying 'yes' to you might lead, Miss Jeanie. If I do, can I still say 'no' later? My virtue, you know."

She and Ruth laughed at that, and she promised she wouldn't hold it against me if I said no to avoid compromising my sexual purity. All three of us laughed at that, and Ruth suggested we eat lunch at her house after we get the cattle, horses, and goats fed.

Aren't there rules about working conditions and minimum wages on farms? I needed a shower and new clothes before lunch, but they told me my dirty, nasty, smelly state was due to hard work on the ranch, so they would tolerate me as long as I tolerated them. I did sit in the breezeway for a while, and sneak out to my truck to spray some Febreze on my shirt and pants. I needed Odorban, but Febreze was the best I could do and they didn't seem to mind. Of course, we weren't sitting near each other at the table either.

I thanked them for the delicious meal and started toward my truck. "Say, anything you want to tell me about how to dress for our date?" I asked Jeanie.

She grinned. "I'm going to act like the male here, and leave you clueless. Just be here by six - we need to be there before seven when the show begins!"

That was no help, so I showered well, polished my good boots, creased my best jeans, and put on my best clean pullover, before heading to the Klattenhoff Ranch at 5:40. Ruth waved me in, handed me a glass of cold water, and gestured for me to sit across from her. She looked me over closely, winked, and offered, "Well, I don't know about my niece, but I'd do ya!"

I laughed. She has the kind of personality I love, and if I don't live up to Jeanie's standards, I'm going to take her up on that!

"And here she is!" Ruth exclaimed. "Ain't she about the prettiest thing you've ever seen?"

In fact, she was, or very close to it, and she achieved that with minimal makeup, nice boots, tight indigo jeans with a pink ribbon belt, and a snap western shirt that was going to be another problem all night. The first was wondering what happened if I untied the ribbon-belt; the second was the strong desire to unsnap those snaps!

No hug in greeting, just "Let's go - we're taking your Z."

When she told me to turn left at the intersection instead of right, where every known settlement lay, I figured this was going to be an interesting night. When we came to a long crossing of the James River that offered neither a bridge nor concrete low water crossing, I knew I was right.

Ever seen a few million bats leaving their cave at twilight? I hadn't either! The leaders fly up and begin circling, and the rest follow. All circle until the last bat is out of the cave (Yeah - How do they know?), and then they start their flight to the rivers, or wherever they know insects will be. They look like a low black cloud, and there are so many they even take the form of a cloud on radar!

The statistics about how many bugs they eat each night were more phenominal than I could comprehend, but it's a bunch of bugs! When they were all gone, the 23 of us sitting on haybales set back from the entrance clapped and thanked the bat expert on duty, and then chatted among ourselves about how amazing that was!

I have a 60-40 bench seat in my Z71, but the only change in positioning was her turning her body toward me by about 25%. "Where to, Your Highness?"

"Turn right," she replied. Now I was really confused, as NOTHING I knew of was this direction. Then I came to another intersection of our dirt road with another, and she turned me left, into what could have been the most remote place in the Hill Country. A right turn put me on pavement, and suddenly the little beer joint/ dance hall where I first met Ruth was in front of me.

"Care for a beer and a twostep?" she asked airily.

"Absolutely! But you aren't going to inflame the rednecks by flirting with them, are you?"

"What did we agree last night? Dance with who brung ya, right?"

I smiled, helped her out of my very high 4x4, and escorted her inside. You could see the 'STRANGERS' alarms going off, so we found a couple of open seats at the bar and ordered beers. I glanced around, got an idea of the setup, and asked the bartender, "Any tables and chairs strangers can use? I don't want to take someone's table and have to explain when they get here all hot and bothered."

She laughed. "You ain't been here before, but you've been in a redneck bar before, ain't ya? Yeah, those two tables against the back wall are okay. Expecting company? I can get you more chairs."

"My aunt, Ruth Klattenhoff, might join us, but she didn't commit," Jeanie answered, earning us a reprieve from the icy stares and muttered conversations for a while.

"Well, Ruth's always welcome, even if she does steal all the single men. If she shows up, expect the crowd to double. Of course, it might double when the word spread on you two being here. Fresh blood makes for a better night than the same ol, same ol."

My phone rang about then, we talked for a moment, I counted the chairs, and suggested someone stop by and pick Ruth up if they were coming here. It wasn't the most welcoming environment, and my hunting crew and whoever they were with sounded pretty far gone already, so I had some reluctance in inviting them. Thus, 'check with Ruth' who is local royalty, of sorts.

"I'd like to hear some music, but I'm not sure what would happen if I play the wrong songs. I'll provide the money if you pick the music. You're too cute to get mugged on the way back."

"Nahuh Cowboy! We face the mob together!"

We stuck to country classics, mostly Hank Senior, Jones, Ray Price, and Bob Wills. No one glared when 'Your Cheatin' Heart' started playing; we took that as a good sign, got up, and walked into the adjacent room that serves as the dancehall. There were a few dim lights in there, mostly beer signs, so I tried to get romantic - and got shot down. She didn't say a word, but deftly disengaged herself from me and maintained a friendly distance.

It was an ill-fated attempt anyway, because other couples drifted in and began dancing. So I focused on impressing her with my dancing skills, but she kept pace without effort, even adding flourishes when I spun or twirled her. She was as athletic and graceful as she looked like she would be. After Williams and Jones came Bob Wills, and I got to show off to Texas Swing. She was my equal but not my better, and I got a nice smile after.

"I'm ready for a cold beer! This is hot work," she proclaimed, and led me back to the outsider's table. That status lasted about half of a fresh, cold beer, when some hot chick led her date and entourage through the door. She exchanged greetings with the few dozen people in the historic hall, and finally spotted us watching her work the crowd and her date. She looked completely at ease and composed, with an assurance that comes with being "The Queen of the Silver Dollar" a few hundred times.

Which reminded me to see if they had that song and 'Love in the Hot Afternoon' on the jukebox playlist.

And then she arrived at our table. I thought it looked staged, but maybe not; she is an emotional woman. The loud claiming of her niece, and "Ed! It's so nice to see you again!" was a bit over the top, but after we were loudly introduced to her date, we suddenly went from outsiders to the in crowd, so who's complaining?

The other outsiders' table was pulled next to ours, chairs were added, and we had four other couples with us, three of whom were hunters from our lease. Jeanie looked a bit embarrassed by the exuberance, and when I leaned over and asked, "So, I assume you sent a text asking to be rescued from your bum date?" she blushed.

"I swear it isn't like that! Aunt Ruth suggested we come here after the bat cave, and said she might drop by with her date. She's cool, you like her and she likes you, so I said 'of course.' I had no idea this would happen!"

"Well, as long as you aren't trying to ditch me in favor of one of the two extra men she brought along. Are you ready to dance again?"

She got up so quickly her almost chair overturned, and we went to the dance hall. There were a few dancing to the country ballad playing, but as soon as George and Tammy started singing 'Golden Ring,' lovebirds young and old joined us.

I've heard the description "They were dancing so close you couldn't fit a sheet of paper between them," but that wasn't us; you could fit a college textbook between us!

Ruth was strutting her stuff with her date, and she gave me a frown after looking us over. I was happy that the next song was 'San Antonio Rose,' because at least she didn't fight when I flung her away and pulled her back against me to the music of the Bob Willis classic.

Next up was an Elvis classic I had slipped in about ten songs deep into the playlist, in hopes they wouldn't accuse us of being rock and roll hippies, or something. As it turned out, the local tavern dwellers could bop and rock as well as swing and two step, but this particular song was one of the King's first huge hits: Love Me Tender.

I tried to snuggle up, she froze eight inches away, and we were the junior high kids at the school dance with dozens of chaperones. Suddenly someone was taking my hand out of hers and thanking Jeanie for letting her break in. I took Ruth one direction; Charlie Bill took Jeanie another.

"What the hell is going on, Ed Kirkland? I expected to see her all over you, after what she told me, and then I see you and her keeping chaperone distance at the church dance!"

"Best speak to your niece. Anytime I try to get close, she shoves me away like I have cooties or something."

"How about this? Let's you and I show her how you're supposed to dance to 'Love me Tender' or any other Elvis ballad!"

I turned, pulled her tightly against me, and then she taught me what 'tightly against me' actually feels like. We didn't go very far from where we started, but I had a massive hardon, the size of which she acknowledged with a chuckle and comment. "I never saw Barry's tackle, but I know it wasn't bigger that yours, so that's not the problem," she whispered in my ear.

"Now, CB brought her back around and she watching us, so put on a good show."

I wasn't sure what she meant, but probably not putting on a show by tossing her on a table top, pulling her panties from under that denim mini, and fucking one of us comatose! I wasn't exactly virginal, but I was sure Aunt Rose could teach me erotic things I'd never even dreamed of, much less done!

And then it struck me that the song was ending and I'd have to face Jeanie with a massive boner - after dancing with her aunt! But Ruth saved me, insisting her niece come to the ladies room with her.

Charlie Bill, or CB as she called him, chuckled at my state and commiserated. "She's something, ain't she? First time I took her dancing I had the worst case of blue balls in history after I took her home!

"Her hubby and I were best friends, and he used to tell me that God made that woman to satisfy a man. I have learned that is true, but it'll never be more than me trying to satisfy her needs. I wish it would - waking us with her is like waking up in heaven! But it won't - 'fuckbuddy' is about all I will ever be, but that ain't a bad job, believe me!"

"Oh, I do! And if she ever has another opening, give me a call! She had my balls aching after one dance! Can I buy you another beer?"

We strolled to the bar, ordered four fresh beers, and returned to the table. One of the men grinned at us, leaned away from his date/wife, and said, "Youngster is looking a bit peaked - like Ruth got a hold of him!" CB chuckled and replied, "It was just part of one dance, and look at him! Think he'd survive a night with her?"

"Not unless he invited you and me to help!" All three of us chuckled; me because I suspected they were right.

"So what are you boys talking and laughing about?" Ruth asked as she took her seat, and Jeanie took hers. CB asked, "Why, were your ears burning?" She pushed her long brown hair behind her ears and felt them. "By golly, they are! And Jeanie's look red too. Were you being naughty boys?"

I smiled sheepishly while looking at Jeanie, who blushed without cause. Her name never came up, but her aunt included her, even knowing the three of us had been talking naughty about sexy her, not her pristine little niece. Charlie Bill took up the mantle, and said, "You lovely ladies share a lot of Klein genes, and you were surely cut from the same pattern - so what do you expect of red blooded rednecks like us? We look at you, we get close, we smell your perfume, and we go a little crazy!"

"We don't mind you boys talking about how good looking we are, how good we smell up close, or our shapely bodies. Just don't be trading notes on how good we are in bed, ya hear?"

Jeanie turned scarlet, and the rest of us laughed. She may be cut from the same cloth as Ruth, but she was nowhere near as earthy and sexual. Or maybe she was and I wasn't the one to turn her on.

"Nobody sits on my song; let's get to the dance hall!" The Queen of the Silver Dollar proclaimed loudly. The dance to that song was nothing like a square dance, but as often as the women twirled from one partner to the next, it seemed like one. I had no idea who most of my partners were, but all were light on their feet, regardless of age or size. Jeanie got into it after the second twirl, it appeared, so I paid attention to my partners and Ruth, who ruled the roost and the dance hall.

From that we went to the Cotton Eyed Joe and the Shatish. I was expecting 'put your little foot' or the chicken dance next, but the music ended with everyone laughing and talking, and then Ray Price's version of Kris Kristoferson's "For the Good Times" began playing. This is my favorite cry-in-your--, beer song, and I wanted to hold someone, have them put their head on my shoulder, and snuggle up. I looked around, hoping to see the red head I felt up after getting her on a twirl during the second round of the Queen's song, but Jeanie appeared, flushing with happiness from the line dancing and all.

I brung her, so I somewhat reluctantly asked her to dance, and then wondered what the hell happened in the last thirty minutes!

She wasn't Ruth close, but she was cut from the same cloth, and I sprang a fierce boner after ten seconds or less! No paper would fit between us, much less the Bible from earlier. So, since she was grinding on my hard cock anyway, I returned to my 'seduction' of this luscious creature by whispering in her ear.

"Jeanie, you smell so good, and you feel even better. You're kinda driving me crazy, here, ya know!"

"Shh, don't talk. Just hold me and dance. You're driving me kinda crazy too, though." That was all I needed to dance, sniff, hold, and try to keep my hand off her delectable butt.

Two hours, six beers, and a few dozen dances with Jeanie, Ruth, the red head, and a tiny blonde with big tits later, I was going to have to whack off in the restroom, or sink my cock in someone! My balls were tennis ball size, and my cock could engrave in steel. I was closing in on an ER run for priapism when Jeanie suggested we head back to the ranch.

This time she sat next to me, with her hand on my thigh, inches from my problem. I groaned, moved her hand over my enlarged cock, and quietly said, "You caused this - what are you going to do about it?"

As rude and crude as that was, she should have slapped me and moved to the other door, but she just ran her hand up and down it, and squeezed it a few times. "So big!" she said to no one in particular - in fact it sounded like she was talking to herself. "I've never had one this big," she added, which in conjunction with her stroking, caused it to enlarge further.

I spotted a dirt road leading down to a cliff beside the river we were driving alongside. I turned off, bumped down, parked at an angle so we could see the river and the moons reflection on it. Our spot was romantic as a Thomas Kincaid scene - moonlight glistening off the water and off Jeanie's hair, and a light breeze blowing through the cab when I opened my window, but I didn't care. The cool breeze I did appreciate, even in my frenzied state, so I lowered all the windows, wrapped my arms around her shoulders and kissed her.

I'd like to tell you that it was magical, and I knew right then that she was the one! But I was frantically in need of a mouth or pussy in which to make a large deposit! I didn't think she was the woman for the job, but I wanted to make sure because she certainly had the gear!

Her little tongue flitted across my teeth; I opened up and we dueled. She moaned, stuck her tongue down my throat, and turned so she could rub her boobs on my chest! That was all the signal I needed, so I asked if we could move over so I'm in the middle of the seat. She quickly slid away and I moved with her. We kissed again, with her twisted toward me so she could rub on me, and I used my free hand to explore her curves, all the way to her knees.

My hand crossed from knee to knee, and made its way slowly and inexorably up the inside of her jeans covered thighs. I rubbed, squeezed, and lightly pinched her where the jeans weren't too tight. She surprised me again by opening her thighs, giving me access to the top of the Y. I rubbed beside it, discovered her jeans were wet, and then rubbed and squeezed her mons and vaginal lips hard.

This moan was louder and more frantic. I leaned her back on the seat, kissed her neck and the valley of her dolls, which were well contained in a bra that I made quick work of after pulling the tempting snaps open with one effort. Her breasts were perfectly round, bigger than my hands, and topped with swollen pink cherries. She gasped when I took them in my hands, whimpered when I licked and then nursed one, and then the other, and cried out each time I lightly bit them.

I went from frantic to a frenzy, twisting my body and using both my hands on her butt and legs, and then trying to untie the pink ribbon while her hands were holding my head on her breasts. Ribbon untied, I unbuttoned the steel button on her wranglers and quickly unzipped them.

Suddenly she pulled me head off her breast and said, "Back seat! We need more room!"

She shucked her boots and jeans and left them on the front seat with shirt and bra, then slithered over the seat. I opened the door and stepped out so I could see her in the light from the dome, took my shirt off, but left my boots and Jeans on. She had one leg over the back of the front seat and the other over the back seat. She was glistening in the moonlight, and her lips were swollen like my cock. She held her hands out and moaned "Come fuck me!"

I reached in, grabbed her hips, and pulled her toward the open door in which I was standing. She had to raise both legs to get them over the head rests, and again cried for me to fuck her. "That is happening, Jeanie Klien, but not until I feast on you!"

I lowered my mouth to her glistening cunt, lapped her essence, and then enjoyed the banquet she presented so artfully for my dining pleasure. I don't mean to brag, but I've been told I eat pussy like a girl, which I take as a compliment. Jeanie certainly liked my technique, which began by tongue bathing each of her lips, which were relatively small even when engorged. After a few, I explored across her taint to that scrumptious ass and explored it lingually. She wriggled and squirmed, called me nasty, and then came for me when I drove the tip into her anus.

Foolishly, the girl collapsed after that, and was therefore unable to stop my oral assault on her clit, which was carried out in combination with a digital assault on her pussy and the tiny rough spot atop it, under the Mons. That awoke her with a scream, and she came again, and again, and again, before collapsing again.

By now, my cock and balls were screaming that I was a stupid asshole for not relieving them before sending her into orbit and insensibility. I had never had sex with an insentient being, but I intended to be like Sleeping Beauty's prince: I would awaken her with a kiss and a cock in her pretty pink pussy!

For once, my plan to bed a female went according to my plan, and as my tongue began licking her lips and teeth, my cock tried to enter her hot, wet, TIGHT chamber. WTF? She's 25, been married, and has the opening of a virgin! Not that I have much firsthand experience with that condition, but by any measure, she was improbably tight!

Her groan signaled she was awake, and her first conscious action was to push my chest and claim "You're too big! Either stop or go really slow so my tight little pussy can adapt!"

I wasn't stopping, so I went really slow, a quarter inch deeper per stroke. It wasn't a matter of lubrication; my leather pickup seat was slick with her juices, and her pussy was flooded! When I achieved about 1/3 penetration, I suggested she arch her hips upward and press her shoulders down. She whimpered as she did, and on the next stroke I sunk another third in her, evoking a cry that represented both pain and delight; or so I told myself. Pain for sure; pleasure was my hope.

I braced my elbows and knees and encouraged her to do the work with her hips. She began a circular motion, and added a back and forth efforts on my cock, and soon our pubes were touching, then our mons. "Oh God, I've never been this full of cock! There isn't an inch of room to spare anywhere! Don't move or I'll go crazy!"

The very idea of her going crazy on my cock drove me to pull back a few inches and push back in; she whooped and whimpered, and then went as crazy as promised. Apparently, 'go crazy' means having a massive orgasm and squirting hot liquids on me, which drove me a lot closer to crazy. Apparently, having had a hardon and blue balls for three hours desynthesized me, because I made several dozen more strokes before succumbing to my need, and causing her to go crazy again.

When I reached an adequate level of conscious cognition, I raised my head to look at her face. The goofy grin and lazy eyes were just precious; she looked as contented as contended can be. "How was that, for our first time?" I asked, seeking confirmation of what I suspected from the goofy grin.

"Oh my God, Ed! I had no idea! I think I've had more orgasms tonight, in the back seat of your pickup, than I had during my marriage!"

I'm thinking this makes me feel like the love guru, but that is trumped by concern that she will expect this unique, in my experience, experience next time, and every time. "Jeanie," I began unsteadily, "I have to admit tonight is like no night I've had before, either. In fact, I've not had this effect on any woman before you, and I'm afraid to admit, we may not have this experience again.

"I'd like to think we will, but, honestly, wow! You are the hottest thing I've ever gotten hold of, and this was the hottest experience of my life! At least to date; maybe we can try again in a few minutes and see who we do on round two."

"Round two for you, round five or ten for me! I'm still quivering inside, and if you even move, it sets fire alarms off inside me! And how are you getting hard again? I swear, you're swelling as we speak!"

"Hell, I have no idea! There is something about you that electrifies me! I've been hard since you snuggled up with me after you and your aunt came back from the bathroom. I have blue balls for three hours, I blow the biggest wad of my life, and two minutes later, I'm hard again! I'm amazed!"

"So you've never had a night like this, I've never had a night like this, you fill me completely... if I didn't know better, I'd say we were made for each other." She disclosed that rather smugly, I thought, so I began punishing her for her impertinence with my cock. Draw if out, slam it in, draw it out, slam it in... At first she kind of laid there and made whimpering noises, and then she started moving with me, meeting me slam for slam, and mutherfucker if she wasn't right! I filled her perfectly, and her little cunt clung to me when I pulled out, as if trying to keep me from leaving!

I was approaching mind-blown-crazy again, but she beat me to it by a single stroke, and then we were both screaming into the night, and I was collapsed on top of her with a racing heart and panting lungs. I don't know which of us first heard the coyotes answering our cries, but she was the first to giggle, though I was close behind. "Listen, Honey, they're celebrating with us! 'Cause the second time was as mind blowing crazy as the first!"

"Yeah, it was, but don't expect every time to be like that! That kind of wild and crazy sex is just about impossible to achieve, must less replicate again and again," I stated in what sounded like a whine.

"So you told me last time. I guess we'll have to test your theory until it happens your way. Me, I'm thinking it is just you mating with me, and us being perfect for each other!"

I very slowly pulled out of her and checked to see if my Johnson was uninjured and in working condition. Then I checked my balls, which were almost back down to golf ball size. I sat on the wet seat after she drew her legs up and sat down. She giggled. "Are they still there, or did you shoot them inside me? Some of that stuff felt pretty thick."

"Nope, they are there and seem to be okay, as does my cock, even though I thought I blew the end off twice."

"Can I look at it?" she asked, with the enthusiasm of a nymphomaniac.

"Okay, but remember it's so shrunken because you... oh, hell, yes!"

She had soft hands that felt like they emitted low-grade electricity, and my cock responded. Two seconds before, it was done for the night, and maybe the early morning, but now that she was touching it, it wanted to play again!

"Oh! I jumped at me!" she giggled, which was about the cutest sound I'd ever heard.

"If you lick it," I suggested while pushing lightly on the back of her head, "it will do tricks for you."

She giggled again, gave it a snakey lick, sat up forcefully, and straddled my lap. Giggling again, she aligned her opening above my again-hard rod, and began lowering herself. For such a lady, she sure could talk nasty about how sensitive her little pussy was, about how good my huge cock felt sliding into her, and about how she wanted to fuck me as good as I fucked her!

All that naughty talk out of that sweet mouth had my balls swelling again, and I couldn't help pushing up when she slammed down. She shrieked and pushed up immediately. "Don't do that again - it hurt! We're wrong about being a perfect fit - you're about an inch too long, at least when we're in this position!"

I should have felt bad, but being an inch too long swelled my pride and my cock! And she knew it! She excitedly observed, "It's growing again. Oh! My sensitive little pussy is having spasms! It's going crazy! Oh, God! I'm cuummming!"

It was so unlikely I almost laughed, but she was serious - she quivered, quaked, and spasmed enough to bring me close, but I rode it out. And then she was telling me how wonderful I feel inside her and how wonderful it is to have a man who can make her feel this good!

When she settled down a bit I held her hips and kept my cock buried in her while her head lolled against my shoulder. "Jeanie, I have a question? What exactly did your Aunt Ruth tell you when you went to the restroom? You kind of had a 'Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde transformation after that, not that I'm complaining or anything."

She giggled. I was starting to love that little girl giggle. "She told me if I didn't stop playing hard to get I was going to lose my chance with you, and next weekend she'd have you in her bed!" Giggle giggle.

"And at that point you decided to screw my brains out tonight?"

"No, that happened after twenty minutes of making out when you pried my thighs apart and rubbed my overheated pussy with you hand! And once I accepted that I wanted to screw you... well, you know."

"So, now that you've screwed my brains out, do I still get to fuck Aunt Ruth next weekend?"

She hit me, and yelled, "No, you don't, you shit!" But she had to giggle as soon as she did, thinking I was teasing. I responded with a grin, latched my lips around her extended nipple, squeezed both cheeks of her ass, jabbed up into her, and slipped my index finger in her starfish while she was whooping and threatening me for the jab. By the time she realized I had a finger buried in her pristine little hinny hole, she was halfway to another 'I'm cuumming' and couldn't take the time to make me stop.

When I knew she was close, I tested her again by slapping her apple ass cheek. She shrieked, moaned loudly, and redoubled her efforts. So I slapped it again, and got the same response. The third brought the screaming climax I sought, and the coyote calls made me giggle.

She was number 14 in my body count, and she already easily topped the others, including my cheating wife, who was number two before Jeanie dropped her to number three, and un-throned number one, my sexual mentor from the summer I turned 18. She was the goddess of sex to me, but she didn't have Jeanie's body or responsiveness. And we weren't 'made for each other.'

This little piece of ass was willing and able, and when I asked her to put her boots on and step outside, she did. When I asked her to lean over and put her hands on the pickup tailgate, she did it, and when I told her how amazing her curvy body looked in the moonlight and starlight, she came for me while I held her hips and pummeled her pussy. This would be a better story if I fucked her through several more climaxes before I came. But even as drained and desynthesized I was from the previous two, her wild gyrations just before and while she came drained me, for the third time that night!

Her knees were sagging badly, so I picked her up like a bride, carried her to the cab, and asked, "Which seat do you want to get dressed on?"

"Neither, if I'm spending the night with you. My panties and pants are soaked, I have stuff running down my leg again, and I don't have the energy to take my boots off, get dressed in wet clothes, and put them back on."

"What about Aunt Rose?"

"A text that I'm spending the night with you, and she'll do her happy dance. She likes you a lot." She faux frowned and added, "A lot more than I'm happy about!"

"She is an especially delectable Klein Girl, but I already have one that is just as luscious, younger, and fucks like a minx. Or maybe a rabbit. Which is it? Minx, or Bunny?"

"You already have one? Ha! You think a one night stand means you 'have' me?"

"Let's review how many times you flooded the your legs and the seat during this 'one night stand,' review what you told me about whether it was good for you, and see if we can determine what led me to make that statement."

"If you'll stop smirking, I'll stop trying to bring you down a notch, smarty pants!"

I stopped smirking because I was laughing so hard - who calls a 33 year old man 'smarty pants? She was getting cuter and growing on me by the minute!

But that little exchange stopped my celebration. She was six years younger than me, and I had two kids. This is information she needed before we did what we did, but certainly now, when we were talking about spending the night and tomorrow. "Jeanie, I don't want to scare you off, but I have to tell you. I'm thirty..."

"... Three years old and you have two darling kids. I know - Ruth and I know all about you, because your wife has a great Facebook page and Insta account with hundreds of pictures.

"You, however, are notably absent from her photos for more than two years. You didn't know, did you?"

"I was oblivious. We had been somewhat distracted for the past decade by our work, our kids, and our friends - though really, they were her friends. Which helps explain why they conspired with her to keep me in the dark. Or more accurately, keep me taking care of the kids and attending their events while my ex 'went out with her friends to relax' and came back with damp hair on her neck, smelling like the wrong brand of soap.

"I tried to talk to her about the problems we were having and how the kids felt neglected by her, but she blew me off. Either she had a bad day at work, or I was working too much and never home. When I pointed out that I was eating breakfast and supper with the kids and attending their events, and she wasn't, she flew off the handle about my saying she's a bad mother.

"I must have been living in a dense fog to not have seen it before, but suddenly I did, so I siced the PI firm I use at work on them. It took a single week to get proof of the affair, which invoked our pre-nuptial agreement, so I told them to stop. I didn't care how many or how long: once was enough.

"No one ever accused my wife of being the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but she was street smart, so I'm suprised she didn't remember that agreement, given how she fought it for weeks before giving in and saying she would never cheat anyway, and reminding me it bound both of us, so we signed it together.

"For about ten years she was family oriented and a good wife; or so I thought. For all I know, she may have been running around on me the whole time!

"Against all my beliefs, but on behalf of the kids, I made her an offer: end it, go to counseling, and see if we can make it work. She laughed at me and offered this doozy of a counteroffer! 'If you think I'm giving Jason up, you're crazy! He's twenty-two, built like a Greek god, and he's madly in love with me. Let's be honest; the kids are older, they don't need me anymore, you don't need me anymore, and I'm not cut out to be a hausfrau anyway. Just give me my half of everything, and we'll work out the visitation schedule. Although I have to admit, Jason and I intend to travel a lot - on your money!'

"I didn't insert the laugh at the end, and those may not be her exact words, but that's close."

She looked sympathetic while I was explaining my sordid past, but then her look turned feral! "Enough about her! You have a naked and horny Klein girl in your pickup who wants to try you on your bed, so get us off this ledge and back to your RV!"

I thought I was done for the night, but by the time we got back to the RV I was back to having tennis balls and a painful hardon. She used a combination of her mouth, her tits, her hands, and her wet pussy to keep me that way, promising sexual favors untold once we were on my bed.

Funny things is, as soon as we got out, with her wearing her boots and me carrying her clothes with my cock sticking out of my jeans, she bent over the tailgate, stuck that prime ass out, and said, "I can't wait that long! Fuck me through one more orgasm in the moonlight, and we'll go inside!"

That turned out to be an easy job - apparently, teasing and torturing me had her right on the edge of another one anyway, so inserting my cock was about all she required. But I had my cock in her, she looked sublimely luscious bent over like that in the moonlight, so I fucked her for a few minutes until she had another, and slumped.

She still looked delicious, but now I wanted a soft, flat surface. I picked her up, figured how to navigate the screen door and door door while holding her and climbing two stairs. I got inside without banging her head, but her juicy pussy was leaking on my arm, so we bypassed the bed for the bathroom. I set her on the toilet seat, took her boots and my remaining clothes off, and turned the shower on to warm the water.

Luckily, it was a large shower for an RV, but this was the luxury model that I paid a bunch for. The shower was square on two sides, with an angled entry sited between the other two. Anyway, she stood in the stream with my assistance, and we cleaned her very, very well, inside and out. Then we cleaned me just as thoroughly, outside only. By then the hot water was tepid, so we dried each other off and made our way to the bed.

After I moved her clothes to a chair with I pulled the covers back and she immediately rolled onto the bed. I followed her, expecting to complete our next round of lovemaking, but she wanted to snuggle and sleep. The little vixen left me with the hard cock and swollen balls I'd endured for hours! I think tomorrow I'll tell Ruth on her! Surely she wouldn't treat a man... oops - you forgot what Charlie Bill said about leaving with blue balls so many times.

Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

*****