Desperate Measures

DESPERATE MEASURES

By Katharine Sexkitten

It's fury.

It's indescribable fury.

It's literally hell on earth.

There is no beast on the planet more brutal or unforgiving or unpredictable than a forest fire. It has no conscience, and no empathy. It destroys everything in its path, and it choses where to go without any care for what or who stands in the way.

Thousands of people had already fled their homes, with no idea of when they'd be allowed to return. Many of them were in rural areas, small towns and sparsely-populated unincorporated gatherings, so evacuations meant leaving behind all their worldly possessions, and, most frighteningly, their animals, most of them livestock of course, but some of them pets, emotional connections too deep to define suddenly snapped and put in peril. There was no choice, but that didn't make it any easier.

Piled on top of the heavy emotional weight of the panic of having to escape on a moment's notice, the uncertainty of what the future held for them must have been almost too much to take, for many. Would there still be a structure to return to when it was all over and the emergency orders had been rescinded? Or, would they eventually go home to a pile of smoking ashes and burnt carcasses?

Evacuation centers had been set up in small towns far away from the danger, with public and private groups clamoring to help the refugees. Food, clothing, medicines, beds. The basics. They had to get covered. In a story as old as the ages, strangers helped strangers, communities helped communities, and everyone prayed for a let-up in the winds and the magical appearance of rain, though neither was likely, according to the forecasts.

The small amount of stragglers that came through our remote area in their quickly-loaded pickups and RV's had few possessions, and hollow haunted eyes, and who could blame them?

Every year there seemed to be more fires, and every year they seemed to be worse, bigger and wider, the damage ever-increasing, in the billions of dollars. The talking heads on the satellite t. v. blathered on and on about global warming, and climate change, and how the growth in the amount of fires and their intensities were possibly connected, but most of us outside the big cities paid that kind of talk little mind. Human-caused, or not?

None of that mattered, really.

In these foothills of the Rockies, the vast stretches of fertile valleys and towering forested peaks, where the trees outnumbered the humans by incalculable factors, the question of blame didn't come up much.

What we know, and always have known, is that life is hard.

Brutally hard. And it never lets up.

Our continued existence is hard.

It's a struggle, always.

Out here, we appreciate the good times a little more than most folk, and we learn to take whatever joys we can find, when we find them.

And more than anything, we know that nature is in charge.

As the divine Mother goes, so we all go.

Nothing, and no one, is permanent, or safe.

The bitter cold of winter can kill you. Extreme heat in the summer can kill you. Droughts can kill you, and your livelihood. Messed-up growing seasons can starve you. Wildlife can kill you. Bears and cougars and other predators have been living in these parts for millions of years longer than we humans have, and they don't take kindly to having their lives screwed up by us, as we encroach on their traditional territories, while poisoning the ground they walk on, the air they breathe, and the water they need to survive with all of our industrialization.

The long-lasting ripple effects of fires, the years of rebuilding and wholesale changes to lives and animals and ancient eco-systems, are as vast as can be thought of.

But while the carnage rages on, the good humans do what they can to help, in whatever way they can. It's only right.

All of us might need help some day.

For the first time in my memory, due to the location of a newly-sprung blaze, one out-of-control and wandering as the winds took it, jumping fire lines and logging roads, the most convenient place to temporarily house the firefighters and the support personnel and the equipment that was rushed in, which is a travelling army of people and machines, was our sleepy little lake-side village.

Almost overnight, the population in our modest valley more than doubled. It almost tripled.

With a large open field between the village and the lake, it was a natural spot for them to set up. Helicopters could land there with no trees or wires to worry about. Men, mostly, though there were a few women, all of them risking their lives to potentially save ours, they needed places to sleep and eat and shower and take a break from the horrors of their job, so a pup tent city sprang up. At the same time, all the equipment needed people to maintain them and fuel to run them, a fleet of semis and tankers and buses coming and going all hours of the day becoming the new norm, the roar of engines and the smell of diesel falling on everything and everyone in the valley. Two water bombers and six skimmer planes set up operations in and around the small pier that was normally used by a few locals with small boats, trout fishermen all, and when they weren't flying they were being serviced by crews who had their own smaller pup tent city set up.

Humans helping humans, out of necessity and out of gratitude.

For the most part, the locals just sat back and stayed out of their way, watching in admiration and respect. Sure, there were some who resented the noisy mass intrusion on their normally-sedate existence, and how the roads were all clogged with vehicles now, but many of us offered help, in whatever way we could, and the crews were treated like the heroes that they are.

Our local businesses, comprised of a couple of second-hand clothing stores, three tiny little eateries, a combination barber shop and hair salon, and two tourist-related trinket shops, they all benefitted from the influx of people, the local economy booming in what was hoped would be a short-lived-but-profitable period. Our one-and-only motel became full, crammed with curious on-lookers, actual fans of natural disasters, as well as a few media people, eager to interview the man on the street about what was going on when they couldn't get footage of the flames. The General Store, smack dab in the middle of the village, became the daily hub of information and gossip, and Alf, the old proprietor, he jumped on the opportunity and almost-overnight installed a big commercial coffee machine and some chairs, just for folks to sit for a while and chat, like a captive audience putting money in his pocket one cup at a time.

Good folks brought food from their own farms and gardens to give away, much to the thanks of the crews, adding to the more standard fare they were getting from the Forest Service. There's nothing like fresh fruits and vegetables. A small craft-brewery from down the valley brought free ice-cold beer, every night, for those firefighters who wanted it, or were allowed to have it.

Lots of my fellow residents wanted to help, most of them having the same problem I had, which was how? What could I do to show my appreciation and make life better for the crews?

I was born and raised in this valley. I knew every nook and cranny of it. The self-effacing clichéd joke we all told growing up was that we weren't at the end of the world, but you could see it from here, although it was always in jest, because we all knew that what you'd actually see is the majesty of hills and trees and blue skies and white snow on the not-too-far-away mountains, which is about as far from desolate as you can get.

If you can take the time to actually appreciate it, the stark beauty of nature is unparalleled.

Still, most young people in these parts didn't stay, once they were old enough to make those kinds of decisions for themselves. There weren't too many job opportunities, other than logging and mining, the both of which were dangerous and the both of which were industries that had fallen from boom-times decades ago. Almost always, the big towns and the even-bigger cities beckoned to the young, all those places where the action happened, the complete opposite of where they grew up.

Out here in the 'boonies' there wasn't much in the way of options, in work or in play, in activities or in relationships. Out here, you take what you can get, and there are not a lot of choices, which is an unattractive way of life to most young people.

I was different.

That drive for a frenzied life in the depths of civilization just wasn't in me.

My folks couldn't afford to send me to college or university, and I had no desire to go there in any event. For my twelve years of public school, I was bused to a building nowhere near us, miles away, every morning and back home again in the afternoon, close to three hours of my day, more during the bad winter storms we got and which made the bus drivers lives hell on the narrow back roads, many of them on the sides of seriously-steep landscape. It's a scary thing to contemplate your own mortality when you're eight years old and being driven to school, careening around turns with perilous cliffs beside you, dropping away to certain death, but it happened to all of us.

So my only option after graduation was staying, while most of the teenagers I knew from my valley and the next few over, ventured away. My Dad worked for decades at the saw-mill, a half-hour drive from home, so he finagled me a job as a file clerk in the office. Unlike him, I wasn't of a size and strength capable of actually working in the mill, operating machinery that easily kills people, but I was smart enough to know the alphabet and numbers, and the pay was decent, all things considered.

Small populations mean small chances at relationships, but I was soon introduced to the daughter of one of the area logging company owners, a plain-looking young woman with thick glasses who was close to being as round as she was tall, but since beggars can't be choosers and neither of us had other options, she and I dated for a couple of years before getting married.

We were both virgins.

She was taller than me on our wedding day, with the fancy heels her Mom had bought for her, and I felt uncomfortable in the badly-fitting brand-new suit my parents gave me as a present, but we both knew that in sparsely-populated areas you take what you can get, and since neither one of us was a 'looker', the both of us rather plain human beings, and therefore with no prospects of anything or anybody else, we accepted our reality and rented an old house and without any honeymoon we became a couple and a home.

Ellen and I were different in most every way. She had the big-city-yearning stars in her eyes, while I had never even entertained the idea of moving away. She was restless, with no job and no hobbies to speak of, and spent most of her time chatting on the phone or online or texting with her two best girlfriends, both of whom who had left the valleys for the glitter of the city.

Ellen had the wanderlust, and wanted to travel and visit all the standard touristy places of the world. I was at peace and contentment right where I was, and where I always wanted to be. I'd seen pictures of the Louvre and the Sphinx and Hawaii and all of her 'bucket-list' destinations, and that was enough for me. It always seemed to me like there'd be too much work to get to those places, too many other people and too many lines and long flights or trips that would have worn on me like sandpaper.

For the first couple of years, we plodded along, and learned how to coexist with each other. I worked and she kept the house, a small rancher, marginally clean. She cooked the meals, but none of them were anything special. When she wasn't gabbing to her friends she watched television, unless whatever was on was rated anything other than 'G'. She oftentimes seemed indifferent to my being there; as if I was just a person she lived with, more or less because she had to.

She'd grown up in a strict religious household, raised to be a 'good girl', and naturally publicly presented as a proper prim woman, never acting or behaving or dressing outside of the narrow rules of the 'decent ways' that had been drummed into her.

Slowly, though, over months and months and months, she began to relax, she began to get bolder, and braver, and a little wilder. She began to open up. I don't know if it was the influence of her big-city friends, and the lifestyles they were living and telling her about, but she got looser, in all sorts of ways.

For instance, she'd begun using swear words, something she'd never done before. Her observations about other people or events began to become racy, oftentimes to the point of being sexuality explicit. I worked in a saw-mill, albeit in the office with only middle-aged women to talk to, where I'd heard language from the guys that would cause the Pope to feint, so I was used to it, but hearing Ellen say things that would make a biker blush was at first shocking and soon became a constant source of surprise.

Never one for the physical stuff of life, affection or passion or sex, at home she slowly became the opposite, over the course of time. She took to occasionally wandering through the house in just her underwear, the lingerie she'd been ordering along with the new clothes she'd taken an interest in, bought online and shipped from who knows where, and sometimes she'd be wearing nothing at all. She seemed to take great glee and delight in shocking me with her nudity, at all times, even in the middle of the day. Instead of her usual habit of clicking away from anything naughty or sexual on television, or fast-forwarding through famous movies we'd watch, she started actually viewing them, and enjoying them, even commenting on them, certain acts or situations on-screen inspiring her to say out loud that maybe she'd like to try them one day.

When nobody else was around, Ellen became a different person.

Our initial once a month sex, with the lights off and the covers on and little to no foreplay and a look on her face like she just wanted me to get it over with, which sadly never took more than a couple of minutes, me not being able to last very long, it all began to happen more frequently. And she began to take a more active role, initiating our love-making instead of me having to, more frequently, and then more again, sometimes during the day and sometimes not even in the bedroom.

It was unusual and in some ways concerning to me, because when you grow up in remote places you just don't expect the same kinds of lifestyles that folks in the big cities get, like lots of opportunities for sex, but at the same time I was getting to have sex more and more often, and what man would ever complain about that?

Never one for kissing and making out, she began to want it, to ask for it, and while it initially stunned me, this change she was going through, I was out-of-this-world happy to play along. Soon our sex became more than just standard missionary.

She almost shocked me to a heart attack the first time she pushed me off of her, rolling me onto my back, before swinging her big thick leg over me and sitting down on my erection, in one swift plunge.

That made her head fall back, and the moan that creeped out of her open mouth reminded me of an animal in the woods, engaged in something primal and life-altering, and she reached up her hands and began cupping her own breasts, pinching her own nipples, in a wanton and brazen act of open sexuality, and it was all so unusual and unlike anything that had ever happened to me before, so it blew my mind, just before I blew my stack and drained myself inside her.

To say that she was disappointed would be an understatement.

She could feel my erection fading and wilting, inside her, still sitting on my body, her beefy legs spread and her wildly-hairy pubic area tickling the skin of my smooth belly, and the look in her eyes was almost tragic, with a 'is that it?' sadness to them,

I rapidly searched for something to say, in that moment, something that would maybe make her feel better, though absolutely nothing sprung to my mind, but then she did something that I would have never predicted in a hundred years.

"You owe me," she said, referring to an orgasm.

Just about to volunteer the services of my fingers, once again, my go-to move every time I couldn't make her cum with my penis, since I'd never been able to make her cum with that, always shooting off too quickly, she shocked me and jolted me in to a new frame of mind, perhaps driven by the big-city ways of her friends, by waddling her big body up the mattress, one thick knee at a time, over my frame, until her womanhood was practically in my face, the whole time with a determined, almost-dedicated glare in her eyes.

What hit me most, however, was her aroma.

Her nether regions were dank, and musky, and the smell of her was something I'd never ever ever breathed in before, the combination of her excitement and my deposit.

In a steely quiet voice she gazed down at me between her saggy floppy tits and spoke.

"I wanna know what it feels like to have my pussy eaten. My friends say it's the best kind of sex there is."

She didn't give me any time to be shocked, at her words or the suggestion itself. The next thing I knew my mouth was covered in hair and wet flesh, her labia spreading on my chin as she got into position, her open vagina settling onto my mouth the very next second.

Followed a second later by drippings.

It hit me instantly, of course.

It was my slime, my cum, my seed that was oozing out of her, and right into my mouth, and while in spirit I was offended and shocked and viscerally repulsed, because eating cum was so gay and I wasn't that way, I couldn't have stopped the situation even if I'd tried.

Ellen weighed a little more than me, not a whole lot but some, and was probably stronger, and just before her big belly covered my eyes as my tongue reached out into her folds, in survival mode and self-defence, I looked up and saw a furor in her eyes, an intensity, and a determination, that almost frightened me.

I made her cum, but I had to work for it.

I had to swallow all of my own cum first though, some of it in globs and some of it in drips and dregs, while manipulating her thin fibrous lips with my mouth, listening to her gasp and groan and seethe above me, finding out that sticking my tongue into her hole made her shudder, her acrid juices taking over my taste buds, so different than my cum, a little voice in my head telling me I preferred my juice to hers, if I had to taste either, until she shifted a bit and I latched onto the nub of her clitoris with my lips and nursed from it, which made her instantly breathe heavily and begin humping her body up and down, the both of us bouncing on the mattress, until it got rougher and rougher and she started moaning and got louder and louder, ending when her whole body seized up in one giant spasm and she screamed out a shriek that must have been heard by all the neighboring houses, and then almost drowned me.

Her spray was everywhere, and voluminous.

It was like a garden hose, being turned on full. It got into my eyes, which stung, and it got into my nose and sinuses, which also stung, and I swallowed mouthfuls of it, over and over and over again.

After she collapsed beside me, completely wrung-out from her orgasm, it took a couple of minutes before she could find the breath to speak.

When she did, her words weren't anything other than a direct order.

"You're doing that every time, from now on."

The next morning my alarm went off, and while normally she would have just rolled over and gone back to sleep, leaving me to make my own breakfast before heading out to work, instead she pulled the covers off the both of us and leaned over me, and with eyes as big as manhole covers she stared at me, like a feral beast, before engulfing my morning erection in her mouth.

It was her very first blowjob.

It was mine as well.

She closed her eyes immediately, as if she was enjoying some sort of rapturous food, and while I don't know if it was a good effort or a bad effort, never having had a blowjob before, I do know that her mouth and tongue were wet and moist and made every nerve ending in my sensitive little head go insane with pleasure, just stark-raving bonkers, and it didn't take long until I was panting out a warning to her, which she ignored, until I screamed almost as loud as she had the night before and emptied my balls into her mouth.

Ellen swallowed all of it, in gulps and gasps, until I had to push her off me, the afterglow too much to take on my sensitive nub, and just before she rolled back into place and back under the covers she gave me a surprising quick kiss, the taste of my ejaculate still on her lips, before murmuring the word, 'creamy' and going back to sleep.

Everyone at the office that day noticed the spring in my step. The office manager, Mrs. Rappan, an upper-middle-aged woman who was naturally flirty at the best of times, studied me for a few moments and then smiled, as if she knew what had happened, somehow, or at least suspected.

But nothing was said.

My career advanced over the next couple of years, from glorified gofer to learning all the ins and outs of the other departments of the operations, from inventory control to accounts receivable and accounts payable, to scheduling and logistics, until I was capable enough at everything to cover for any sick days or holidays.

Ellen and I began having sex and sexy fun more often than I could ever have imagined, and I kept pinching myself, every day, at how I'd managed to get so lucky.

One day she surprised me when I got home by showing me her latest online purchase, which was a dull-pink-colored battery-operated vibrating dildo. Long and thick and molded to look like an actual erect penis, with the push of a button on a handy little remote it wriggled and shuddered and buzzed, noticeably moving while she held it in her hands, the smile on her face beaming, telling me she'd already used it twice, and brought herself to thrilling orgasms.

"Now," she explained, "when you can't last long enough, or when I want more, you can use this on me!"

Over the ensuing months, we had sex in every room of our little rancher, almost always at her demand. She'd become like a completely new person, one completely consumed with orgasms.

I could be sitting on the couch, reading a book or just gazing out the window, and the next thing I'd know she'd be on her knees, unzipping me, practically slobbering at the idea of sucking me off, kissing me afterwards every time, sharing my cum with me, or dragging me in-between her spread thighs, fairly demanding to have her sexy panties ripped off or shoved to the side and be eaten out, something that wasn't even a request after I'd emptied myself in her, because that always meant an automatic trip of my head down in-between her legs in our new world. Her cums were never as loud or as wet as when I was sucking my own semen out of her vagina.

She had me take her doggy style with her bent over a kitchen chair, or the back of the sofa. She would climb onto me and ride me while I was watching television, blocking my view of the screen with her body, not even closing the blinds or shutting the drapes, while she whooped like a cowgirl. A few times she'd wait until dusk, with the sun almost all the way down and the world almost completely dark, and then drag me out onto our little deck or the backyard itself, and we'd kiss and suck each other and screw.

I used the dildo on her frequently.

A lot.

It never failed to make her happy.

I didn't think life could get any better.

I had an easy job, which paid okay, and my wife was as horny as a Billy Goat most all the time, and I was getting more sex than I imagined anyone else in the world was getting. And maybe it was just indoctrination, but I actually quickly got to the point where I enjoyed the taste of my own cum, and looked forward to eating it out of her, or having her kiss me with a mouthful of it, sharing it with me.

It was exotic-tasting, unlike any other food I'd ever had, earthy and yet weirdly delicious, and drinking it, savoring it, was as naughty as anything I could think of.

It made me feel like I was like one of those big-city people, who had options and opportunities you don't find in small villages, the kinds of people who live hedonistic lives, full of sinful disregard for the strict rules of the backwoods God-fearing folks.

When Ellen told me she wanted to go and visit one of her BFF's in the big city for a 'girl-cation', I thought nothing of it, other than I wouldn't get any sex for a week or so, which was in some ways saddening, because I'd not just become used to it but I vigorously looked forward to it, but of course I wanted her to be happy and a little time away wasn't anything to worry about.

Until the phone call ten days later, when she told me that she wasn't coming back.

She didn't even cry.

All she said was that she couldn't live 'in the middle of nowhere' anymore, and that she'd sign whatever divorce papers I sent her, without any demands or conditions.

A couple of months after all the paperwork on the divorce was done my Dad got sick, stubbornly refusing to go see a big-city doctor until it was too late, and the only blessing was that he didn't suffer in pain for long before he died. I took a leave of absence from the mill office, to take care of my Mom and see her through her grief, moving ten minutes up the road and back into their house.

What I'd expected to be a short stay turned into longer, when just two weeks after his passing she suddenly felt bad for a few days, all the while proclaiming that it was nothing, and then passed away in her sleep.

Statistically, it happens to a lot of married couples, is what I was told on the phone by the health care professionals in the city. One dies, and the other goes not long after. When they explained to me the percentage of suddenly-alone people who die in less than six months, I was astounded.

That many?

Apparently people who really are in love forever can't seem to live apart, even after the inevitable happens.

So I suddenly became the executor of a will that named me as the sole beneficiary of a house and property right smack dab in the village, plus Dad's pension and union benefits and a not-too-shabby amount of money they'd managed to save and invest over the years.

If I wanted to stay in the valley, I had more than enough to live on for the rest of my life. The cost of living was relatively cheap, compared to a city, but that was mostly because there wasn't much to spend money on, except food and housing. And I suddenly had a home all my own, without a mortgage.

I was twenty-six years old, and in less than six months I'd lost my parents and my marriage, and with no luck in the relationship department before or after my ex-wife and an offer to do spec work for the mill from home, which wouldn't be full-time, I retired from my career and thought I was set.

I moved on in my life, alone.

All alone. And lonely.

Surprisingly used to lots of sex, now I had none, so I was masturbating frequently, daily, sometimes multiple times a day, and while the orgasms were good, sometimes great, it wasn't the same as being with someone else.

Even eating my own cum, an act that I didn't have to do but which reminded me of all the fun I'd had with Ellen, became part of my routine.

One day, searching for something in one of the boxes of stuff I'd packed up from the rental house I'd shared with my ex, I found her dildo.

But not the remote.

And it was like all the sounds of the world stopped, becoming completely and startlingly silent, with no one and no things around me, almost like I was in a dream. I held it in my hand and just stared at it, remembering all the times I'd used it, pushing it in and out of her, always to her pace, telling me when to slow down or speed up while panting like a racehorse. I gazed at it as if it was some sort of relic, or spiritual icon, a priceless piece of history, in awe.

With shaking hands, I brought it closer to my face, and was hit like a lightning bolt with the faint trace of the odor of Ellen's pussy, my mouth instantly filling with saliva, a ridiculous amount, and my conscious brain of logic gave way to my subconscious brain of desires, and the next thing I knew I was licking it. Holding it like a sacred candle in front of me, lighting the way to my salvation, I scrubbed it with my tongue, trying to get every last molecule of her juice off of it, spinning it slowly to make sure I didn't miss anything, until finally concentrating on the flared head, which looked like a Medieval helmet, licking it back and forth and around and around, and the only thought that rested in my soul was to take it into my mouth, and wrap my lips around the flared head, my tongue going nuts on the underside, whipping back and forth, and my eyes closed, just like hers on her first blowjob, as if I was savoring the same rapturous food she'd had.

Over the next few weeks, it became part of my daily routine. Sucking on that faux cock became like a pacifier to me, most every night.

As did wearing some of Ellen's clothes that she'd left behind.

I started out with a pair of her panties, one night, in a fit of loneliness, probably thinking that it would remind me of her in some way, and I was shocked and amazed at the softness of the material, and how sleek it felt on my skin, and how the little strap at the back found its way right into the crack of my buttocks, snapping in snugly, and how the fabric holding my penis and testicles felt like a heavenly cradle.

Pretty soon, I graduated to other garments. She had a few pairs of those sexy stockings that stay-up by themselves, with the elastic at the tops, and slipping into them could almost make me explode, without even touching myself, that's how remarkable it felt sliding whisper-thin silk up my skin, tickling and delighting each and every cell of my epidermis. She'd also left three nightgowns, silky and light as a feather, that on me looked like soft delicate evening dresses, as well as some bras that wouldn't fit me even if I'd tried, her chest far thicker than mine, as well as a couple of short little camisoles, which nestled onto my skin like a gentle fog.

Life went on, for a spell.

One night, after a ferocious masturbation session that left me exhausted, lingerie on and cum swallowed and dildo thoroughly wet with my saliva, the idea formed in my head that I might want to try putting the dildo inside myself, in the other hole.

In the naughty hole.

As vividly as if it had just happened, I could recall all the looks on Ellen's face, the mixture of emotional and physical reactions, the shocks, the stresses, the sensations, every time I used it on her, pushing her flesh aside and filling space that wasn't normally filled. I could see the exertion it caused, the rigors obvious, and yet despite them, and what sometimes looked like difficult endurance, the groans and the gritted teeth, she never complained, and in fact demanded it often.

So maybe I might feel the same way?

I don't know what I was thinking, but I do know that the dildo was wet, and I was horny, and I'd already pulled my panties off before my orgasm, so I didn't stain them, because they're tricky to wash, and the next thing I knew the thick tip of it was at my hole, a flicker of hesitation running around in my head, until lust won out and I shoved it as hard as I could straight up into me.

The neighbors probably heard me scream.

Startling shock and frenzied objection from my hole rocketed up and through me, but before I could even formulate the thought of stopping myself the dildo slid further in, past the discomfort and sting of my ring, and right up into me, filling me beyond anything in my imagination.

As if the pressure inside of my body had doubled, concentrated in my innards, I felt like I suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, just in that one area, and while my ring was still throbbing in something akin to agony, the big flared head ran across a part of me buried deep inside, something magical and mystical, and that's when all hell broke loose.

I knew what a prostate gland was, more or less.

I never realized it could be my very best friend.

As wrenching as being in a car accident, hit at crushing speed in a head-on, every muscle in my body got worked and battered, in the blink of an eye, tendons tensing and ligaments cramping and nervous system overloading, until two giant strokes of the dildo later I exploded out an orgasm for the ages.

When I woke up, because it literally made me pass out, the euphoria too much for me to deal with, the dildo was still buried inside me, to the hilt, and with a sadness bordering on regret I slowly slid it out, a fluid but enticing withdrawal that made my channel reset back to its normal position, begrudgingly, objecting to the sudden loss, and when the big head came out of me with a wet sloppy plopping sound, the cool air of the evening moved into my still-open ring, and all the sensitive flesh inside me suddenly lit up in a chill of delight.

A gaping hole meeting fresh air will give you feelings you couldn't ever begin to match in any other moment of human existence.

That dildo became a tool for me, almost every day. Getting it wet by sucking on it and almost always slipping it into my ass, that pink shaft of delight enriched my life from the absolute get-go, and I'd sometimes wonder, wistfully, just how much better it might be and how much MORE intense my orgasms might be if I could just find the damned remote and make the thing move, like a real cock would, in unpredictable little vibrations.

Life went on, for a spell.

One rainy misty fall morning, unexpectedly, there was a knock on my front door, and after throwing some sweats on overtop of my stockings and panties and camisole, I spied through the peephole at the face of Mrs. Rappan, the office manager at the mill, her face and shape distorted by the fish-eye lens, holding a box full of papers in her hands.

I let her in, because she was also a neighbor of sorts, a member of my own little community, and that's what folks did for each other. She set the box down on my kitchen table and took off her overcoat, revealing her standard office attire, which was a synthetic-silk long-sleeved blouse, today's chosen hue being turquoise, along with a dark black skirt, appropriately down to just above her knees, panty-hose and short-heeled dull black pumps, and after accepting my offer of coffee I got the machine going while she talked about a huge project that just got dumped on her and how she didn't have a budget to pay for extra help but that she'd find some way, somehow, to compensate me if I'd do her the huge favor of helping her.

I'd always liked her well enough, so I agreed, and with mugs of piping hot steaming coffee in our hands we sat down and went over the project and what tasks had to be accomplished and in what order and who'd do them, and I was happy enough to have something to do during my days that took my mind off how lonely I was, so I volunteered for the lion's share of the work.

She tilted her head and sighed and gave me a smile, a real one, heartfelt and genuine, and in my peripheral vision I watched two little round nubs suddenly appear on her blouse, nothing hugely overt, just subtle little points, and we sat in silence for a bit, until she reached her hand over and put it on top of mine.

"How are you really doing?" she asked, nothing but concern on her face, and I knew what she was asking about, being divorced and having lost my parents only recently, so I tried to walk the fine line of masculine stoicism versus feminine emotionality and confessed to being sad, still, but getting a little better every day, and trying to keep moving forward, the way people have to.

She nodded, sympathetically.

"You haven't cut your hair in a while," she said, with matronly concern, "are you eating right?"

I shrugged off the hair comment, and said I was eating just fine.

One longer pause later, her eyes flicked this way and that, scanning my parent's house which was now mine, and her gaze got more intense, as she stared at me.

"I suppose you must miss having a woman around? A wife," and then a short hesitant pause later, "or a lover? Someone to hold, and lie with? Believe me, I know how that feels."

The surprise of that statement coming from a married woman must have registered on my face, because she made a 'tsk' kind of noise and shrugged her shoulders, before looking away from me, almost coyly.

"That must sound strange to you," she said, her voice quieter, "coming from a woman who has a man in her life, a partner, a husband," and I nodded slightly, so she started up again, "but, well, you know, people get older, into middle age, and Joe is close to nine years older than me to begin with, and, well, I guess priorities change for some, the things that were important in their youth not so important anymore, and, well, to be honest," and she paused again, before turning her head back and looking at me straight in the eyes, hers more watery this time, a dead-serious look, "it's sad for me to even say it out loud, but, well, Joe and I haven't been lovers in a very long time. Years."

The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the room, for second after second after second, until she spoke again.

"So I know what it's like to be lonely, that way," she whispered, "I know what it's like to have those feelings, to want to be with someone, to want to give and receive pleasure, and to be loved."

The next long pause let me know all I needed.

She'd lived in these parts her whole life too, so she knew the score for people like us.

You take what you can get, when you can get it.

My only hesitation at not jumping on her body right away was because under my sweats I was wearing lingerie, and it was a natural presumption to expect that good folk of Mrs. Rappan's generation might be offended by that kind of kink, so I smiled at her, and nodded, and then asked her to wait for a minute or two, because I had to take care of something upstairs.

She'd moved, and was reclining on my sofa when I came back down the stairs, out of the bedroom, me no longer wearing panties or stockings or a camisole under my sweats.

Just me. With an obvious erection.

Her blouse was unbuttoned more than it was when I left the room.

Three buttons further down.

I could see that little line of cleavage that women with good-sized breasts get, the thin symmetric channel where skin starts bulging outwards, directly in-between two obviously swollen nipples, now twice the size of before.

Mrs. Rappan, as it turned out, had an appetite as big as Ellen's.

Mrs. Rappan loved lots of kissing and making out and foreplay, participating fully, giving as much as she got. She loved breast massage, and she practically swooned when I added nipple-sucking, after wrenching her old-fashioned bra out of the way. She grabbed at my erection, through my clothes, rubbing me as best she could. She caught her breath several times as my hand ventured down her body and my fingers slipped under the top edge of her boring panties and pantyhose, almost giggling at the thought that I had sexier lingerie than she did, and she gasped out loud when my first finger slipped between her lower lips and curled into her wet swampy hole.

Mrs. Rappan got all gushy moments later, her chest heaving and her big tits rising and falling, and she bit my upper arm as she climaxed.

I couldn't wait.

I'd been without sex, without sex with someone else, for months and months and months, so while she lay there all woozy and huffy I pulled her clothes off as fast as I could and then added my clothes to the pile, before mounting her, right there in the living room.

One second her legs were spread and I was knee-walking between them, on the cold bare floor in front of the sofa, and the next second she's screaming in my ear as I sunk into her, balls-deep.

That damp sleek gripping hole, tenderly encasing the entirety of my erection, was just as exquisite as Ellen's pussy, and just as heavenly, and I wanted to stay inside and enjoy it for the rest of my natural life, but, just like all my times with my ex, it didn't take me long to finish. A dozen strokes, maybe, and I was growling and mewling and my eyes were rolling back into my head, and I was spraying her insides with my baby-makers.

The look of disappointment on her face was strikingly similar to the one Ellen used to get.

But I knew how to fix that.

Slipping out and bending down, lightning-fast, my mouth immediately attached itself to her hairy clam, my tongue whipping out to claim the first few drops of my cum, the ones sticking to the outside of her, before spearing my tongue inside her, spreading her lips, and feasting on my own juices.

A priceless look of profound and utter apoplexy landed on her face, looking down at me in uncontained shock, a muffled curtailed gasp of "no... no... it's dirty..." escaping her mouth, until I moved my head in just the right way, and my nose landed dead square on the hood of her clit, and any objections she was laboring under went sailing out the window.

I ate every single drop of my semen out of her that I could get, searching every crevice I could find for the creamy salty goodness, once again feasting on the combination of male and female love juices, once again being physical with another human, the elation rising in me, as if I was being reborn, or I'd been in a kind of prison for a time, locked away from others and the activities they can share, but my punishment was now thankfully over.

When she orgasmed again, I thought the poor woman might be having a coronary. All her flesh got redder and her chest was rising and falling as fast as a professional athlete's, and one of her hands with their thin, bony fingers landed on the top of my head and grabbed like an eagle's talons, her long fingernails sharply digging into the tender flesh of my scalp, and she made rumbling groans from the very pit of her, her body squirming around, until she couldn't take any more, and pushed me away.

I stood up on shaky legs, naked, looking down at her, mostly naked, her skin all flush, her middle-aged breasts falling to the sides a little, with their silver-dollar-sized brown nipples, her love handles, her hairy dense pubic hair, and her pussy, red and raw and puffy and looking like it'd been through a war.

But the best view was her face.

I saw total and utter physical and emotional exhaustion, and satisfaction.

Just before she dressed and straightened up and left, to go back the office, she made me swear that I wouldn't tell a soul about what we'd done and she wouldn't either, and that she'd find time a couple of days a week to come over, ostensibly to work on the project, but mostly to have sex, because we both agreed it was something we wanted.

Just before she closed the front door, she turned and smiled at me.

"You know, um, certain clothes that people wear will leave temporary impressions on their skin."

I was at a loss as to what she was talking about.

"The tighter the garment, the heavier the impression," she added, and then winked at me, conspiratorially.

Then her voice got low, and quiet, but with a breathy intensity.

"I think it's downright exciting, and downright kinky, too, to know a man who let's himself really enjoy being naughty. A man who, for instance, likes wearing panties," she added, before turning and walking to her car.

In shock, I rushed to the bedroom, and there in the mirror I could see exactly what she was talking about. The thin straps of the panties had left faint lines on my skin, the flesh just slightly darker because of the pressure of the material, and it would have been obvious to any sane person that I hadn't been wearing men's underwear.

Looking further down, I noticed that the stockings with the elastics in the tops, they leave impressions too, especially on the upper thighs.

She knew I liked wearing women's clothes, and instead of being repulsed, she'd actually enjoyed it.

It had turned her on.

In that moment, despite all the sadness I'd been through for months, I was the happiest man in the world.

The life of physicality and sexuality I'd enjoyed with Ellen and then lost, it was all coming back now! Touching skin, kissing skin, licking body parts, the intimacy, the contact, holding and being held, and even more importantly, giving pleasure to another human, by satisfying them physically, the best parts of life, they were all suddenly mine again!

I loved all my cumming, by myself, of course, but I realized that it was far more important to me to be with someone else, a partner, and to make my partner happy, because doing that made me happiest of all.

Two days later she walked into my house and immediately started taking her clothes off, piece by piece, dropping them wherever she was standing at each moment, boldly striding straight past me and up the stairs to the bedroom, and by the time I got there she was on my bed, laying on her back, naked as can be, her legs spread, with a look of menace on her face.

"C'mere panty man," she ordered, "Mama needs some licking."

"Yes Ma'am," I replied, pushing my jeans down to the floor and stepping out of them, showing her my rose-red thong and black fishnet stockings, before stripping off my t-shirt so she could see my bare chest, my nipples just as swollen as hers.

Her pussy was already wet and juicy and she held onto my ears with both hands and guided me to more pressure at times and less at others, while I feasted on her folds. After I made her cum, without having to take a face full of her spray like I did with Ellen every time, Mrs. Rappan being more of an oozer, we cuddled a little bit and she confessed that her husband had never performed oral on her, ever, after over three decades of marriage, because he said it was disgusting, and sinful, and now that she'd actually experienced it, and knew what it was like, and how good it could be, she'd want it more and more.

I smiled and said, "no problem!"

Then she looked at me, and giggled.

"But it was always okay with Joe if I was oral on him," she whispered, excitedly, "so you had better enjoy blowjobs, young man, because I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE licking on a weiner!"

Which wasn't a lie, because she slid down the bed and ran her hands up and down my stockinged legs, cooing a little bit, before she gently wrenched my panties to the side, allowing my erection to spring out, wobbly and wet, before opening her thin lips in a determined look and taking my whole shaft in one go, right down to the base, ramming her nose into the soft flesh of my lower belly, before she moaned a loud appreciative sound and stared up at me, her eyes almost fiery behind the thick glasses she wore.

She was daring me to watch her enjoy giving a blowjob. She was challenging me, to witness a genuine sexual being in the thralls of the act itself, pushing me to take in and be inspired by a human giving pleasure because it gave her more pleasure to do so.

Mrs. Rappan put Ellen to shame when it came to sucking cock, both in enthusiasm and in effect.

As if she could feel what I was feeling, or sense where I was on the scale of enjoyment at any given moment, probably because she'd had decades of experience of being oral with her husband, she'd vary her pace, gently nuzzling my erection at times and hoovering at other times, and apparently I put out a lot of pre-cum, because she'd murmur a pleasant 'yum' kind of sound every time my taste hit her, and that happened a lot.

At the same time, I discovered that she was also a great lover of testicles. From the get-go she slipped her fingers around my balls, caressing them and contorting them, even bringing me slight pain by twisting them, but never too much, never enough that didn't disappear completely as soon as she let go, all of it just adding to the thrills we were having.

To my utter surprise, since I assumed she was going for the full-meal deal, she gasped my cock out of her mouth at one point, pushing herself up to her hands and knees, panting like a dog, her big tits hanging down like a cow's udders, with a blank glazed look in her eyes, wheezing out a command.

"I like when a man takes me from behind."

How could life get better?

The project took us three weeks, and then after that it became harder for her to find excuses to leave the office at the mill during the workday, so our daytime visits almost dried up. But she was a horny woman, with a sudden new lease on a sexual life, so she convinced her hubby, Joe, that in order to improve her health she'd go for walks after dinner, knowing he'd never want to join her.

Her route started out like most anybody's would, but always ended at my house, once she was certain nobody was watching her.

One particular night, even after I'd eaten her to a rousing orgasm following one of my short-as-usual screws, she seemed antsy, and unsatisfied.

"Can you get hard again?" she asked, pointing at the shrivelled mess in my panties, and when I honestly grimaced and said, "probably not", she confessed that she "needed to be crammed".

"You have no idea what it feels like to have something inside you," she boasted, "filling you up. You just don't know how good it can be, and how sometimes it's all a woman needs," and before I could work up the courage to admit that I did, she kept talking, after a big sigh.

"Sometimes there's nothing better than just being stuffed, being stretched, and loving every second of the hard work and the ordeal."

When I pushed my dildo into her, after quickly retrieving it from the drawer in my night table and then brazenly taking it in my mouth, getting it as wet as I could as fast as I could, she gasped, like she'd been punched in the guts, but her eyes were wide open, as if she'd just seen an alien, in total shock, that look not even flinching until the second stroke, when I really gave it some go, and when the wide base of it slammed into her pussy, spreading her lips wide, her head fell back and her eyes closed and she burst out with an echoing sound.

"YES!"

She kept gasping the word, 'YES!', as I slowly sped up, fucking her faster and faster, until she started panting like a dog again and grimacing as if something was about to happen that might seriously hurt her, and that pained-looking face stayed for the next few minutes, as her hips bucked and tried to meet the dildo each time, all of it ending a few minutes later when she bolted upright, almost sitting, and her face crinkled up and her eyes squinted shut, and tears rolled down her cheeks, and her whole body shook like jelly.

The gaze of outrageous shock on her face was priceless when I slipped the dildo out of her and immediately began licking it, savoring again the taste of a woman on the rubber, and while her chest rising and falling slowly ebbed, she witnessed me cleaning her juices, my tongue searching everywhere, until I finally opened my mouth up and swallowed the head of the dildo, making the same kinds of sucking noises that she made when she sucked my cock, which she did every time we got together.

It took her longer to recover from that than any other previous orgasm I'd given her, so I just gently caressed her and nuzzled her nipples with soft kisses and held her in as intimate a way as I could, which to me was almost as good as the sex itself.

"Where'd you get the toy?" she finally asked, and after I explained that my ex had bought it, she nodded and said, "uh huh", and then her eyes got a little excited and she smiled.

"You sucked on it like it wasn't your first time," she observed, and while I maybe should have been embarrassed, it turns out I wasn't, so I nodded to the affirmative, almost proudly.

Studying me for a bit, as if I was an oddity, she finally grinned, exuberantly, with a bit of incredulity mixed in.

"You are a kinky little thing, aren't you, panty man?"

There seemed no need to answer that.

"So," she said, "have you ever, you know..."

I figured I knew what she was curious about.

"No," I answered, cutting her off, "I've never sucked on a real one. No."

She shook her head.

"That's not what I was going to ask," she said, almost tersely, her voice quiet but with a steely resolve, "I was going to ask if you've ever used it on yourself," and her forehead nodded towards my lower body, "in yourself, down there."

Once again, I suppose I should have been embarrassed by the question itself, but for some reason I figured the two of us were way past any secrets.

So I nodded, and let a small smile appear.

Her nipples got huge again, in a second.

"Show me," she said.

Rolling onto my back and ripping my panties to the side, I took the dildo and in one strong movement I brought the tip of it to my ass and forced it in, breathing every single molecule of air out of my lungs in one long slow exhale, until only the hard base was outside of me, my eyes never leaving her face, while she stared in abject surprise at my ass and me being penetrated.

A half-dozen in and out strokes later, she reached over and swatted my hand away, taking over, and began spearing me, again and again, one push after another, nothing gentle, getting faster and faster as she went, my little shrub of a withered penis suddenly springing to life again, no longer trapped by panties, and when my right hand grabbed for it, to jerk myself to a cum, she swatted it away with her free hand, and shook her head, telling me without words that she would control things, while she kept ramming me, faster and faster, sending bolts of tremors rocketing out of my prostate, seriously-intense rapid throbs which became an insistent buzz, until she was truly fucking me, with abandon, and I was humming from the inside of me, where the dildo was rubbing, so my hands found themselves on my chest, my fingers pinching and pulling on my own nipples, and for the next few minutes she brought me to a state of wildness beyond anything Ellen had ever done.

When I came, with neither of us touching my erection, it was after four of the most furious slams into me she could muscle up, including the last one that she gave her all to, really pummelling the dildo into my furthest reaches, and using her palm to push at the base, like she was honking a horn in a car.

It took me a few moments to get back to earth, while Mrs. Rappan licked up the small amounts of cum I'd managed to produce, and I opened my eyes to see her face approaching mine, aiming for a kiss, where she shared my special sauce with me, our tongues having a little play date.

Two, sometimes three times a week, the two of us would get together, to really live. And the thirty-or-so-year difference in our ages seemed to be a plus, not a minus. We both had no inhibitions, or secrets, and we both loved to make the other feel good, and as much as she enjoyed all the things I did to her, the oral, with or without my cum inside her, and the fucking, both my shorter versions and the longer version with the dildo, I got the feeling that most of all, she really got off on watching me suck on the dildo, and using it on me, and in me.

It heats up the brutal cold of winter when you've got someone in your bed to play with. Even in harsh conditions, on particularly stormy days, I always had a smile on my face.

After a particularly vigorous session, where she really went to town on my ass, after sucking me until I filled her mouth with cream, which she naturally shared with me in a kiss, I was lying in a partially-comatose state, breathing heavily, and she sat beside me and stared.

"You haven't told anybody, right? About us? About this?"

I managed to shake my head.

"No," I stammered, "of course not."

She nodded slightly, as if she was glad to hear my answer.

"Why?" I asked, suddenly struck with a worry, "do you think Joe suspects something?"

"No, no, nothing like that," she said, dismissively, "he wouldn't even think along those lines. He figures I'm like him, that I gave up all that stuff years ago. The idea of me having anything resembling sex with anybody wouldn't even enter his mind, and if somebody told him they'd heard something, or even seen something, true or not, he'd think they were talking rubbish and forget about it a minute later."

My worry began to ebb.

"Okay," I said, cautiously, "so why did you ask me if I'd told anyone?"

Her eyes got a little wet.

"Because I think I owe you an apology."

"For what?"

She sighed.

"I did tell someone, about us."

A big electric ice-cold jolt of worry ran up my spine.

"You did what?"

"Not you specifically," she blurted out, defensively, "but I did tell someone that I'd taken on a, you know, a lover."

Mrs. Rappan smiled at me, but it still had a worrisome look to it.

"I'm sorry, panty man," she admitted, "but I was having a heart-to-heart with my oldest, dearest friend in the world, someone I've known since grade school, and we've always told each other everything, and I fought it for all these months, keeping it quiet, but the other day she was going on about how lonely she is," and she paused, "her husband passed just shy of three years ago, fact is, and she was telling me how she missed the romance and the companionship and the hugging and kissing and then she started quietly crying and admitted that most of all she missed the sex."

I was trying to picture who her best friend might be, of all the people I knew in our valley and the neighboring ones. And who, for that matter, was a recent widow. There were more than a few possibilities.

"So I was just trying to give her hope, that good things can happen, when you least expect them, that's all," she said, "by telling her about me, that I have someone who fulfills that part of life for me, I was just trying to show her that it could happen for her too."

Something inside me had to know.

"Who?"

She looked at me, and breathed out a long slow breathe.

"Patti."

"Mrs. Knutsen?"

She nodded, and then she smiled again, this time with her normal motherly look.

"She doesn't know it's you, specifically," she said, "she just knows it's someone in the area, that's all. And it doesn't change anything."

I thought about that for a few seconds.

"Every time I see her in the village I'll wonder if she suspects me," I said, before a grin crept onto my face, "but come to think of it, that'll probably make me smile inside, so I guess it's no big deal."

Winter led to spring.

Right around Easter, one day she stared at me, just after she'd made me cum in rip-snorts by screwing me with the dildo while I was lying face-down on my bed, doubling up my own pleasure by grinding my hard little cock into the soft sheets, cumming like nobody's business, and I could tell she wanted to ask a question, so I nodded.

"You ever...?" and then she stopped, laying her body next to mine and cuddling with me, "have you ever thought about, you know, having a real dick inside you?"

Before I could answer, she kept talking.

"I mean, let's face it, you love getting screwed, right?" and I nodded, because it was true, "you already know how one-of-a-kind it feels to be filled, all the pressure and your insides straining and such, just like women feel," and she gazed at me with her matronly face, "and you can take it from me that it's always better if the dick stuffing you is attached to a real live man," before smiling like we were spies, planning a daring mission, "so, have you ever thought about it?"

"Yes."

For at least a minute we just stared at each other, two lovers, with no walls between us.

"I guess there isn't much chance of finding someone around here, is there?" she said, ruefully.

I had to force a smile, one crinkled with disappointment.

"Probably not. But, just like when you told Patti, about us, there's always a maybe, right? I mean, I didn't think there was much chance of finding a woman to have sex with again, out here in the boonies, after Ellen left," and then I kissed her, "but I found you! So," I decided, "maybe there's a chance. One day. Who knows?"

Mrs. Rappan smiled, wistfully, and for a few moments her eyes travelled far away, like she was travelling back in years.

"You know, I heard Alf might have experimented in such things, back in the wild days of his youth," she confessed.

"Alf from the General Store?" I asked, incredulously.

She nodded.

"I don't know it for a fact, mind you. It was just a rumor, a long long time ago,"

Spring ushered in summer.

Fire season.

The day after the valley became overcast with smoke and the army started arriving Mrs. Rappan saw me on the street and we casually said hello and then she whispered what I had already figured out, that we probably wouldn't be able to get together much, if at all, because there were just too many people around, and even though most of them wouldn't know that she was a married woman if they saw her sneaking into my house, that didn't matter.

It was too risky.

Word could spread.

On the third evening, though, about two hours after the sun had gone down, there was a quiet knocking on my back door, and when I swung it open, Mrs. Rappan barrelled inside.

"I need a good screwing!" she proclaimed, heading straight for the stairs, and I watched her strip naked, a sleeveless sundress followed by her bra and then her panties, and she flopped herself down on my bed, on her back, lifted her legs and spread them, grabbing onto her calves and pulling them back, pointing her hairy pussy right at me.

She was as wet as moss on an early spring morning, soaked in dew. Except her moisture wasn't rain.

I'd never seen her that horny.

The insides of her thighs were glistening.

She was at the perfect height for me to walk right up, my erection leading the way, and sink right into her, spreading her lips apart and watching the curved head disappear, before the rest of my shaft followed.

"OH, PANTY MAN!" she moaned out, "screw me hard!"

I gave it my all.

I actually lasted a little longer than normal.

Then I ate all of my cum out of her, making her thrash about on the bed while she oozed and oozed and oozed.

Finally, I gave her the screwing she really wanted, with my dildo, hard and fast, in an almost brutal tempo, until she was quietly sobbing, begging me to stop.

I gave her a few moments to come back to earth, watching her face go from frenetic to passive.

"What's got into you tonight?" I asked her.

A dreamy look came on her face, and she sat up and looked like she was getting her bearings before she talked.

Then she casually looked at her wrist watch, like people do, and an instant panic came over her.

"Jesus Murphy!" she spat out, "is it that late already?"

Like a frenzied teenager, she flailed around, throwing her clothes back on, and her sandals, before stopping, and taking a deep breath, and then gazing at me.

"I'll fill you in tomorrow, okay? I'm sorry, but Joe needs to take his meds and he usually forgets, so I gotta get home quick and make sure he takes them, before he falls asleep."

Without even a kiss, she was out the door.

The next day, a bunch of locals were gathered together by the field, and with my little reusable shopping bag full of a few groceries from the General Store, where for some reason I gave an extra-big smile to Alf behind the counter, I said hello to everyone and stayed to chat. There must have been almost twenty of us.

Mrs. Rappan was there, along with her husband Joe. We said hello, like neighbors and former co-workers would, like everything was as normal as could be.

Towards the back of the crowd, I spotted Mrs. Knutsen.

She was staring straight at me. There wasn't any mistaking it.

Life-long friends with Mrs. Rappan put her in the same age bracket, as far as I could assume, which meant late fifties or maybe even early sixties, but that's where the similarities ended between the two women.

Mrs. Knutsen, Patti, had never lost the fight to keep her girlish figure.

Where Mrs. Rappan was thicker with middle-aged spread, Patti was svelte, and while I'm sure she was probably a bit heavier than when she went to high-school, it wasn't by much. Far less busty but with a rounder behind, she also differed from her friend in how she presented herself too.

Patti always wore tight clothes, year round.

Staring at me in a summer-weight light-pink sleeveless blouse tucked into tight white Capri pants and sandals, anyone could make out the feint shadows of the lace of her bra cups, something I'd always considered one of the sexiest aspects of womanhood, and while the widow Knutsen had always impressed people with her friendliness, this time her beaming smile, directed straight at me, was brighter than the sun.

That ice-cold jolt of worry came up my spine again.

There was lots of talk amongst the crowd about the bravery of the crews, and how they faced such unimaginable danger, every day they went out, and the overall general consensus was that everybody would like to do something for them, but not many people knew how, or what.

I agreed. I repeated the same thing others had said, which was that if there was anything I could do to make their lives better, I'd do it.

But I'm just a retired glorified file clerk.

What could I possibly do to show them how much I appreciate their valor?

While we all stood there, strangers were coming and going from the big field, sometimes in groups and sometimes by themselves, occasionally walking by us, or close to us, and as a group we always greeted them, loudly saying hello and thanking them for all that they do, and to a man they all smiled back and thanked us for our support.

Oddly, one of the men, a little older than the average age of the crews by my estimate, he turned, just as he was walking away, and looked back at us, back at our small crowd, but I was as sure as anything that he was looking straight at Mrs. Knutsen.

And I'd be willing to bet money he winked at her.

That evening, barely after dusk had begun settling, there was a knock on my back door, and just like the night before, after opening it, Mrs. Rappan zoomed past me at a hundred miles an hour and went straight up the stairs.

Unlike the night before, though, when I got up to the bedroom she wasn't naked, or on the mattress with her legs spread lewdly at me, pointing her sopping wet pussy in my direction.

She was clothed, in her usual summer attire, a sleeveless shapeless sundress, and she was standing by the foot of the bed, holding a good-sized brown paper shopping bag in her left hand.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," she almost-barked, energetically, "we figured it out."

I had no idea what she was talking about.

"We? Who is 'we'? And what did 'we' figure out?"

Her eyes were alive with a burning fire, and I could almost sense her body pulsing, as if her heartbeat could be seen through her skin.

"Patti and me," she said, "we figured out how to help the firefighters, like everybody was talking about this afternoon."

My ice-cold jolt of worry went away.

"Oh cool," I said, instantly greatly relieved, "so what are you two doing?"

I watched her back straighten, as if she was steeling herself to say something momentous.

"We're providing moral support."

I nodded, to get her to elaborate, but it didn't work.

"And?" I gently prodded, "how are you two lovely ladies doing that?"

Her nipples got very large, very quickly.

"We're licking weiners."

I had no response, standing there in shock.

"We're giving head," she said, proudly.

For the longest time I just stood and stared at her, and she stared at me, the both of us waiting for the other to say something, like a competition, the silence in the room deafening. I figured for sure she was pulling my leg.

"You're... w-h-a-t?"

"We're licking weiners," she answered, with a big grin appearing, "you younger folks call it 'sucking cocks', but in my day we 'licked weiners', or 'gave head', which was a cruder way of saying it."

It took what seemed like forever for me to form words.

"You're... you're... the two of you are..."

She nodded, with gusto.

"Patti and I slipped down to the camp last night, after dark, after most all the locals were back in their homes," she explained, eager to tell me the details, "see, she'd already met one of the guys and they hit it off right away, if you know what I mean, her being the horny widow and all, and he mentioned discretely that there were others like him who were looking for relief, so after talking with her they formulated a plan. He set up a place for us to do it, a place that's quiet and hidden away," and then she stood up on her tiptoes, as proud as proud could be, "because, let's face it, these men are heroes! HEROES! These men are risking their lives for us! Every day, they're in a battle, they're in a war, just like soldiers," her voice getting more strident and strong, trying to sell me on the genuine rah-rah of her actions, "and they're tense, and they're on edge, which can be fatal in the middle of all the flames, that'll get them killed, and they're so far away from their loved ones, from their wives and girlfriends. So Patti and me, we just figured it's the least we can do. We do something we're good at and love doing, and they get to know how much we appreciate them. We provided moral support."

"Moral support? That's what you're calling a blowjob?"

She nodded, eagerly.

"Six times."

The look of shock on my face inspired her to giggle.

"You both sucked six cocks last night? Are you kidding me?"

Mrs. Rappan grinned but shook her head.

"Patti stayed and did more, but she always was an oral girl, even back in high school, so that's not totally surprising."

I couldn't find words.

"I'd have kept going, to be honest, but my lips were getting sore, and my tongue felt like it had run a marathon, and my stomach was full, believe me, which is why I didn't lick your weiner when I raced over here."

Like a gigantic cartoon light bulb over my head going bright, I put two and two together.

"Is that why you were so horny last night?"

Again, she nodded with pride.

"Sucking those men made me giddy," she admitted, "and I would have walked over hot coals to get screwed hard, just like you did, like you do every time, my sexy panty man."

Hearing her say those words made my already-stiff erection throb in my panties, and for a few moments we gazed into each other's eyes, sharing the unspoken intimate moments as only lovers can do.

"We're going again tonight," she whispered, her voice full of want.

To me, that meant she was about to be on her way, without any fun between the two of us until later, maybe, like last night, and I instantly began prepping myself for that, that I'd get to see her soon, when she was horny as hell again.

"What's in the bag?" I asked, finally finding something to say.

She grinned.

"We need more mouths," she said, "don't you see? There's just way more men than the two of us can satisfy, and that's where you come in."

That ice-cold jolt of worry and fear raged up again.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, fearfully.

All of a sudden, her face became matronly, and her voice got softer.

"Look," she started, "you love sucking on that dildo," she explained, "we both know it," and I hesitantly nodded, "and you've told me lots of times that you've thought about doing it on a real man, on a real cock, right?"

I slowly nodded again, because in those respects she was correct.

"So here's your chance!"

The ice-cold jolt of fear doubled.

"Are you crazy?"

Mrs. Rappan shook her head.

"These are desperate times!" she declared, defensively, "and desperate times call for desperate measures, right?"

I stepped back from her, reflexively defensive, and started shaking my head.

"No," I managed to stammer, "no, that's crazy, that's insane."

Her head tilted to one side slightly.

"Why? Why do you say that?"

My voice was smothered in tension.

"Why?" I echoed, "why?!? Well, first off, I'm a man, not a woman, and, and, those men won't want to get sucked by another man, because they're not gay, or," and I searched for the words, "or, okay, maybe statistically one or two of them might lean that way, or be bi, or open-minded, or whatever, but... but I'd get my ass kicked!"

She shook her head, confidently, and held up the paper bag.

"It's dark in the tent, panty man, on purpose," she explained, "and I brought you some clothes, so we'll dress you up and you'll look like an average everyday woman, maybe a bit of a homely one, but so what? There won't be any problems that way. They'll see someone they are sure is a woman, because she looks like one, and she'll be on her knees, in front of a chair for them to sit on, and she'll be ready to make them feel good, that's it, nothing more. And the rules are strict. They don't get to touch us, in any way. If they do they're banned, no questions asked. Patti's guy has guaranteed it. He's only inviting his most trusted friends and co-workers. So it's totally safe! We get to do our civic duty and lick weiners, which we love to do, and they'll be forever grateful."

My whole body was shaking, in little tics and tremors.

"Yes," I admitted, "okay, so I like sucking on the dildo, that's true," and she nodded her agreement, "but sucking on a real cock, a real man, that's, that's just, that's just a silly fantasy, isn't it? I mean," and I realized my mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert, "it's just play! It's just for fun! I've never thought it would actually happen in real life!"

Mrs. Rappan stepped closer to me, and put her right hand on my shoulder, softly.

"Desperate times," she repeated, her eyes focussed and serious, "and you stood out there with the rest of us this afternoon and agreed that we should all do whatever we can to show our appreciation and make their lives better, right?"

Not quite hyperventilating, I took a deep lung-full of air in to calm myself, before nodding.

"Well here's the way, panty man," she said, softly, "the perfect way. These men get to relieve their stress and we get to lick weiners and drink some cum, fresh from the tap! Everybody wins."

I couldn't think of anything to say.

"They'll never know you're a man," she promised me, "and you'll never get another opportunity like this to suck on a real cock and find out if it's something you like doing," and then she smiled, "but I know you, don't I? I know you're as kinky as heck, you're the kinkiest man I've ever met, and I know you love sucking on things and you love the taste of cum, and I'm absolutely sure that you're going to enjoy this just as much as Patti and me."

And like the two lovers we were, with no secrets, we shared a few silent moments together again, reliving our sexual adventures together, playing little snippets of moments in our own heads, from our months-long affair.

"Let's get you ready," she said, and I was just too shell-shocked to object or disobey, and she'd always kinda sorta been the boss between us anyway, the unspoken leader, when we played, and the next thing I knew I was standing in my bathtub, after spreading a lotion on myself, everywhere, from a plastic bottle she'd brought, to remove all the hair on my body below my chin, not that there was a huge amount, waiting for it to do the work.

Like the loudest noise ever, a silent mantra kept repeating and echoing in my soul.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

When she shouted at me from the bedroom, "ten minutes, panty man!", I turned the shower on, and watched the water going down the drain get a little thick and dark with the traces of my former masculinity.

Suddenly as smooth as silk, I discovered that drying off with a big towel felt different, it felt unusual, and it staggered me, at the softness of the towel, and how it was treating my skin so much differently, and how unique the whole act was.

When I walked into my bedroom, naked, I could still hear the mantra, pounding in my ears like a bass drum.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

Mrs. Rappan had laid out some clothes for me, on the bed, in the configuration of how it should look, almost as if there was a person dressed lying there.

From the top, there was a dark green sleeveless light-weight turtleneck sweater, perfect for the soft cool of a summer's evening, with a small thin-strapped bra lying on it at just the perfect height. Directly under those was a knee-length flouncy pleated skirt, mostly a cream color but with some china-blue flowery shapes scattered on it, and on top of that was a pair of Ellen's panties, black G-strings that were quite possibly my favorite, along with a pair of gauzy black thigh-high stockings, and on the floor in front was a pair of what looked like ballet slippers.

I just stood and stared at them, imagining myself in them, lost in the frazzle of the idea of actually wearing them, and then actually going outside of my own house, outside the safety and anonymity of my secrecy, totally nervous about it, never mind the end goal, of being in some sort of tent and actually sucking the cocks of strangers.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

"Where'd you get the bra?" I asked, oddly the only question that popped into my head, since it wasn't big enough to be hers and it wasn't anything left behind by my ex.

"I borrowed it," she said.

"From who?" I asked.

And then almost had a heart attack when a sound came from the hallway outside my bedroom.

"From me."

My head snapped to my left, and standing there was Mrs. Knutsen.

That million-watt smile of hers lit up the room, at the same time as I got hit by the terror-filled bus of reality.

She knew.

She knew all about me and her best friend, and she knew that I liked wearing women's lingerie, and she knew that I liked sucking on a dildo and swallowing my own cum.

SHE KNEW!

There were no secrets.

She knew, and based on the look on her face it was fine with her.

My head snapped back over to Mrs. Rappan, who beamed at me, partially in an 'I'm sorry' way but mostly in a 'isn't it wonderful?' way.

Patti was wearing her usual casual top, this one a bit yellowy, sleeveless for the summer, and her standard tight Capri pants, hugging her bum, as white as the virgin snow.

Patti was not wearing a bra. Her nipples and areolas were blatant, under the thin material of her top, and almost as big as bar coasters, absolutely huge, as obvious as a Mack truck in an alley.

I watched her scan my body, up and down, until she settled on my eyes again with hers.

"Time's a'wasting," she said, like a schoolteacher, and suddenly the two of them were handing me clothes and I was slipping them on, my shocked and shrunken penis suddenly raging hard again, especially when they snapped the bra on me, adjusting the straps to pull the cups in, forming around my chest muscles and actually giving me the impression of cleavage and smallish round breasts, and when the turtleneck sweater slid on me, as light as a feather, high enough to cover my Adam's apple, I turned to the mirror and was stunned beyond words at my shape.

I had breasts! Small, yes, but curves that were the textbook definition of femininity.

Wearing a flowing skirt and top, from the neck down I looked like a woman! Sure, I wasn't a runway model, but in the dark of night I'd appear as a normal average woman, a little thicker in the middle than an hourglass figure would dictate, and almost flat-chested, but surprisingly feminine nonetheless, which produced a little current of glee running through me, trying to abate the huge river of nerves that hadn't stopped flaring and blaring.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

Patti sat me down on the edge of the bed and began putting makeup on me. Promising me they'd show me how to take it all off afterwards, she used some mascara to make my thin eyelashes so much longer and thicker, and darker, and she softly applied a little powder to my upper lids, some eye shadow she called it, that was the soft blue color of a spring morning, and finished me with some garishly red lipstick, making me smack my lips and kiss myself to smooth it in, before adding a second coat.

She spritzed something called a straightener onto my hair, and then brushed and pulled it all back, reaching behind me to gather my length into a pony-tail, which she twisted up high into a black velvet scrunchie.

Out of the paper bag, Mrs. Rappan pulled out some clip-on earrings, little fake diamond shards hanging down, three on each ear, that clanged against the side of my neck when I moved, as well as a big gaudy silver bracelet for one of my wrists and some round bangles for the other, which I had to struggle to get my hand through, but once on jingled and jangled in a delightfully charming way.

Finally, they handed me the ballet slippers, and I just looked at them, not really finding them all that woman-like, not like a pair of sexy feminine pumps.

As if she was reading my thoughts, Mrs. Rappan shrugged.

"You can't wear heels walking across that grassy field," she said, matter-of-factly, "they'd just dig in. So flats are the way to go."

Patti was looking at me, this way and that, studying me from different angles.

"He kind of resembles Diane, doesn't he?" she asked her friend, who also studied me, before nodding.

"Who's Diane?" I asked.

Mrs. Rappan smiled.

"Diane Alcott," she replied, "a woman we went to school with. She moved away a long time ago, before you were born, so you've never met her."

Patti giggled.

"Behind her back we used to call her 'Diane All-cock'".

Mrs. Rappan laughed out loud, a hearty chuckle.

"All cock, all the time! My Lord, but she did love the action, didn't she?"

The next thing I knew, the three of us were standing inside the back door of my house, each of us holding a hand towel, which I couldn't understand the reason for, but after giggling with delight Patti quickly explained that "some men shoot a lot, and some don't always time it out to land in your mouth, you know?", and then after they'd checked cautiously that nobody was hanging around outside who might see any of us, the two of them opened the door and quietly walked outside into the dark night.

I couldn't.

As if there was some sort of force field holding me in, I stopped in the doorway, frozen in fear, the silent mantra repeating and echoing in my soul.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

The two ladies stopped, and looked back at me.

"C'mon Diane, let's go," Patti whispered, "the coast is clear."

Mrs. Rappan knew me well enough to know I was on the verge of a panic attack, or worse, and she took two steps back and slipped her arm inside mine, like women do.

"Just try it, panty man," she whispered, "if you don't like it, you can come right back home, and no one will be the wiser."

Then she stared into my eyes, the way best friends do.

"I promise."

I stared back.

"You do?" I asked, like a fearful child trying to get some sort of reassurance from someone they trust.

She nodded.

"And," she added, quietly, "I'll make you a bet, right now."

Before I could ask what kind, she smiled.

"I've seen you, I've watched you, I know you," she said, slowly moving me forward, my legs initially not wanting to cooperate but soon giving in, "and I know you're one of the horniest people in the world, one of the most giving, and one of the most oral people in the world, and I'm betting every penny I own that you're going to absolutely adore licking on a real weiner."

The three of us slipped over to the field side of the main road running through the village, which wasn't lit as much, using the cover of night to scurry along towards the east side of the encampment area. My heart was trying to beat right out of my chest, and with every footstep forward my stomach was doing flip-flops, getting queasier by the second.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

About fifty yards in I heard the sounds of somebody else's feet on the ground and then out of the darkness a man suddenly appeared, walking past us in the opposite direction, and in the available light I flicked my eyes over at him without turning my head and exposing my face to him, in case he was a local and knew me, and I saw him respectfully nod at us, and say the word, "ladies", in greeting, before disappearing into the inky black again.

At the farthest point of the field was a large industrial tent, set up parallel to the edge of the lake, with a dim light showing out of the front flap, to our left, but Patti pushed at one arm and Mrs. Rappan pulled at the other arm and we veered to our right, cautiously stepping around to the back, and down its length, until in the barest of light Patti prodded at an edge, where someone had conveniently undone three of the tie-down straps, and which provided enough give to create a slim but manageable gap for a human to sneak through.

Patti whispered a piece of advice into my ear as we slipped inside.

"Don't look them in the eyes," she breathed, "just start licking."

Neither of them had lied in what they'd told me. It was almost pitch-black at the back of the tent, but there was some ambient light, just enough fading beams from the bulb hanging at the front of the tent to make out a few scant details.

Piles of boxes and cases and equipment had been strategically made, creating four semi-private booths, the varying height close to seven feet tall in parts, with privacy walls of a sort, and deep enough for a single solitary folding chair and what looked like rolled-up blankets on the floor, which I instantly realized was to act as a kneepad, for the women about to perform oral sex on complete strangers.

For some reason, that struck me as wonderfully considerate.

Here I was, dressed as a woman with make-up on, readying myself to jump a huge chasm in life and potentially touch another man's cock, let alone lick one or suck on it, all experiences that were cataclysmically frightening and beyond my wildest dreams, and yet my brain was instead focussing on the kindness of a stranger to have consideration for my comfort.

But I didn't get long to obsess about it.

Patti slipped into the first area, and Mrs. Rappan kneeled down in the second, so with my blood pumping through me so fast that I literally felt like I was burning up from the inside, I flared my skirt out, so it settled down around me in a natural circle while I used the third space, and listened to the whoosh of silence roaring through my ears, waiting for the frightening unknown by lowering my head and just quaking.

I heard shuffling foot noises, and then the unmistakable sound of a zipper, and some slight murmuring kinds of noises, both masculine and feminine, and then more feet, and another zipper and clothes-being-manipulated sounds, and then, before I could begin to panic and bolt for the loose flap in the tent to escape, which is what I wanted to do, I felt the air around me roil, the subtle smoky scent that was now our commonplace getting stronger, and something moving it near my left side, and my eyes darted over to make out someone's belt buckle as he squeezed past me on my left, before turning to face me, while reaching up to his pants with both hands.

In the space of one big gulp of breath into my lungs, I watched a man strip down for me. I watched a man's pants and underwear get pushed all the way to his ankles, before he sat on the folding chair and spread his legs.

It was right there.

It was right there in front of me.

No more than two feet from my face, a mere twenty-some-odd inches away, as close as people's heads get on crowded city buses, close enough that my nose was filled with the smell of him, it was right there.

Cock.

Erect throbbing cock, bobbing and weaving as his body moved while he breathed.

Cock.

My mouth instantly became as wet as the ocean.

Cock.

Hundreds of snippets of time in my past, maybe thousands, maybe even millions, formed and zipped through my mind in the tic of a second, memories of desires, decadent ideas that thrilled but were always assumed to never actually happen, just daydreams and fantasies.

Out of my peripheral vision, there was just enough light to see that his knees were bouncing up and down, as if he was nervous, or anxious, or maybe even wondering what the delay was.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

But all of a sudden...

STOP!

The master voice in my soul boomed inside me and silenced the dissent, and spoke with authority, delivering in an instant and with gargantuan finality the last words on the subject, rendering my doubtful mind speechless.

I AM DOING THIS.

It was time to face the truth.

Mrs. Rappan was right.

I did want to lick and suck on a real cock, attached to a real man.

She was right, that I'd never get a better chance than right here and right now to find out if I might actually enjoy it.

But more importantly, I realized, she was way more right in another way, a far more honest way.

These men are heroes.

These men are saviors.

These men are facing potential harm and death every day, volunteering to go places and do things that I couldn't do, not being that kind of man. They're staring into the eyes of death, every day! On steep hillsides they're risking their lives, with trees falling around them unpredictably, and where puffs of wind or changes in the air patterns can send hot burning embers everywhere, trapping them in rings of flames. Every year the fires get worse and there are more of them, and every year men die, trying to fight them.

THEY'RE HEROES!

I put the palms of my hands on his upper thighs, landing my elbows just above his knees, and I heard him quietly sucking in some air, trying to follow the rules, one of which was no noises of any kinds, like moans or groans or all-out screams, even while cumming, and his knees stopped bobbing, his thighs warm under the tender skin of my palms, and I leaned forward, slowly, grinning with enjoyment, before opening my painted lips and, just like I do with the dildo, swallowing his cockhead, in one go.

The guy's back lurched, and I heard similar sounds from around me, but they were feint and I ignored them, almost immediately.

I turned all five of my senses on and aimed them at what I was doing, full-blast, the rest of the universe pushed away entirely, and simply enjoyed.

His cock was wet on the top, with slightly-tangy sauce, and my lips gripped under his flange and my tongue started slowly bathing the underside of his head, back and forth and back and forth, languorously, and I had to stifle the urges welling up inside me to yell at the top of my lungs.

LOOK AT ME!!! I'M SUCKING ON A REAL COCK!!!

The taste of skin is fantastic! The heat and flex of skin, it's even more fantastic! The way my mouth just naturally moulded to his shape, bathing all of his curves with a wet touch, it elated me, and sated me, fulfilling that part of my being that obviously yearned to be filled with human flesh.

As joyful as the angels allow, I nursed on him for a bit, which got me a bunch of little drops of his pre-cum, finding it delicious, before I got brave and began taking more of him into my mouth, letting him bang up against the back of me, where my throat started, and the poor man wasn't allowed to touch me so he whipped his hands together above my head and interlocked his fingers and squeezed like he was trying to crush his own bones, and I sucked and caressed his flesh with the soft wet skin of my cheeks and tongue and came off of him, before gasping in one big wallop of air and sucking him in again, as far as I could go.

There were similar sucking and gasping and slurping sounds coming from the ladies, a lewd and raucous soundtrack to this extraordinary and surreal moment in my life, as depraved and delicious as possible, which only added to my own enjoyment, and I realized while I was slowly bobbing up and down on this strangers cock that I was stunningly and achingly erect in my panties, teetering right on the edge of explosion, and I was pushing out a lot of my own pre-cum, because I could feel wetness on all the skin surrounding my crotch.

And oh, Mrs. Rappan was so right.

So very right.

Sucking on a cock, loving it with your mouth and your soul, tasting what it has to offer and wanting more of it, it's a physical and emotional and spiritual experience that was literally better than anything else I'd ever done.

Period.

I wanted to spend the rest of my life making love to cocks with my mouth.

But my first one ended almost as soon as it had begun.

With no warning, he just started spewing.

Multiple streams of his cum sprayed into my mouth, and I had to gurgle once, loudly, just so it didn't all go into my lungs, immediately getting more from him, and having to loudly swallow again and again and again, with him working harder than he's probably ever worked just to stifle and suppress his own noises, and I think my sounds and his tightly-controlled snorts may have set the others off, because while his creamy salty taste settled on my taste buds and made me swoon, I could hear other soft wet gurgling and sucking and swallowing sounds, and other barely-suppressed grunts and growls.

When he had no more semen to give me and I needed air in my lungs again, I let his deflating penis slip out of my lips, and gasped.

I heard the sounds of someone walking past me, behind me, and the slight increase in outside noise as the tent flap got pushed open a little and then closed again. I had no way of knowing if it was Patti's man or Mrs. Rappan's, but it didn't matter.

My guy took a few seconds to settle back on earth, before he wordlessly stood up and pulled up and zipped up, and with not a scintilla of recognition or acknowledgment he walked away.

I dredged the depths of my mouth, especially under my tongue, for the last dregs of his cum.

I LOVED IT!

I had just enough time to notice the difference in taste between his jism and mine, and in the consistency, his being a little more watery than mine, before the air roiled again and my second hero slipped in front of me.

This man stood before me with his hands on his hips, as if he was posing for the cover of a Superman book, an imaginary cape floating behind him at shoulder level.

And despite Patti's advice, I looked up.

He was a huge man, much taller than the first guy, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest and a mammoth thick bushy beard, and his head was up, and he was intensely staring at the tent behind me, not allowing himself to look at the woman about to suck his cock, as if that guaranteed him some sort of emotional distance from the whole thing, some deniability, that he'd participated in something so sordid.

He was wearing coveralls, and it was instantly obvious to me that he wasn't going to do anything to help me, so I sat up on my knees as far as I could stretch and reached up my hands to begin unzipping him, the zipper starting just underneath his chin.

As I peeled it down, a rich vibrant forest was presented to me.

This man was the hairiest man I'd ever seen. The further down I unzipped, the more of his chest and then belly I saw, and he was hairy everywhere! Briefly taking his hands off his hips, he reached up and shrugged the coveralls off his big shoulders, and let them fall, and I saw that his arms were just as hairy as the rest of him, as if he still maintained a connection to our shared past with apes, as if he was far closer to the jungle than the rest of us.

Everything I'd seen was hairy. And, as his one-piece garment hit and settled on his boots, near the floor, revealing that he wasn't wearing underwear at all, I saw that his legs, which were as thick as tree trunks, were no different.

Between his thighs was where he was the most hirsute. He had the thickest patch of pubic hair I'd ever seen, not that I'd seen a lot, dark and dense, and his hanging giant testicles were so thick with hair that it was impossible to tell where they ended and where his inner thighs began.

In perhaps the biggest shock of my evening, which was saying a huge amount, I realized that his erection was the exact opposite of the rest of him. As large and thick and muscular as he was everywhere else, in every other respect, his manhood was an anomaly.

He was smaller in length than me.

Thicker, I'll grant him, but shorter.

And, even in the murk of almost-darkness, I could see he was un-circumcised.

He had a ring of flesh around the curved top of his cock, making his pee-hole look like the eye of a serpent, peeking out in curiosity.

Putting his hands back on his hips, in super-hero pose, he left things up to me.

I ran my fingers through the hair of his thighs, from the knees on up, stunned and marvelling at the sheer strength of his musculature, and then I reached around and shamelessly felt how hairy his ass was, almost-shocking myself at how big and round and as-hard-as-steel his buttocks were, he was so muscular, before just grabbing them as hard as I could and pulling his entire erection into my mouth, so my nose hit the hairy skin of his lower belly, just like Mrs. Rappan did with my penis, every time she sucked me.

As full as full can be, it was like having taken a bite from a favorite food, enough to literally fill my entire space, and just holding it there, letting my tongue and cheeks massage it and work on it, back and forth, savoring it, not wanting it to break apart or slowly dissolve, instead needing nothing more than to keep it wet and warm forever.

My second cock started moving his hips, forward.

And then backward.

And then forward.

Tiny incremental thrusts began to have a little more oomph, and then a little more, and I realized he was fucking my face, respectfully, and my hands on his rock-hard ass were actually pulling at him, helping him push his cock into my mouth, because I wanted him to use me that way, my mouth as wet and tender as a woman's pussy, gripping at every cell of his shaft and head.

Maybe it was just providence, but he didn't last very long either, which saved my lips and tongue from too much endurance, because I was already starting to feel a bit of fatigue in them, when he suddenly jerked his hips the last time, backwards in this case, landing with just his head resting on my lower lip, and began shooting his ropes of seed into me.

For someone with such a small endowment, he could produce a gallon of cum!

He whispered, "thank you," after he'd zipped up his coveralls, walking away briskly just like my first cock.

Man number three soon followed.

I didn't look up at him, just like Patti had cautioned me, and began licking as soon as his cock was out of his pants, swallowing as much as I could of his average, thin rod in one gulp, and that was all it took for him to begin spurting, and his reaction was so extreme that his groin jerked away from me, and after the first big shot landed on my tongue, in my actual mouth, the second and third globs hit me in the face, on both sides of my nose, almost up to my eyes.

His whisper before leaving me was terse.

"Sorry, Miss."

Which is the moment I learned what the hand towels we were carrying were actually for, and appreciated Patti's advice.

Wiping my cheeks and the bridge of my nose of the cum, the air around me roiled again, with another new customer making his way in, and in an almost-blasé moment, as if it was a normal, regular, even perhaps boring thing to see, I watched another new man slip past me, and drop his pants and sit down on the rickety chair.

But my fourth man was different, shattering any repetitive normalcy that I might have been feeling, and sending any jaded feelings I conjured up straight to oblivion.

My fourth cock was, in a word, perfect.

In every way, aesthetically, it was perfect.

If you put together all the worlds' experts in a room and told them to design the most pleasing example of manhood, crossing all cultural differences and taking into account the wide variables of sensitivities and sensibilities that exist on the planet, what was shaking in front of me would have been the result of their hard work.

Almost as dark as the night around us, my fourth cock was freakishly long and stunningly thick and dead-straight, as straight as an arrow. Looking like a missile, like some sort of intercontinental device, crafted by experts in aerodynamics to have the ideal dimensions so it would deliver it's payload to the target precisely and without fail, my fourth cock to suck literally moved me to a state of awe.

I didn't look him in the eyes, but not because of what Patti had cautioned against, not risking any sort of potential emotional connection to the man.

I couldn't peel my eyes away from his cock even if I'd wanted to.

His erection was too beautiful to take my eyes off of it.

I sat, on my haunches, feeling the occasional waft of fresh cool air slipping up under my skirt and tantalizing the smooth skin of my legs and my bum, eliciting tremors of little excitements, adding to the miles-high pile of major excitements overwhelming my consciousness.

Floating along on a river of emotional and physical joys, the most perfect penis in the world wiggled and waggled in front of my eyes, the musky smell of the man's body filling my nostrils, along with the smoke, and just before I leaned forward to kiss the curve of his bell, I couldn't help myself, and I smiled.

I smiled a smile bigger than any other smile in the history of smiles.

I reminded myself to thank Mrs. Rappan, later on, when it was safe again, for all she'd taught me, and all that she'd offered me in this world, and for all the love she'd shown me.

In the meantime, I took the most perfect penis in the world into my lips, and heard a low deep "mmmm" from him, this stranger, this hero, finally being honored the way a hero should be honored.

What ensued was no crude blowjob, no rushed oral work to get a man to explode quickly so as to move on to the next one.

This was no factory line oral sex.

No.

I made love to his cock.

I caressed it with my lips and tongue. I bathed it in the goodness of my actions with the expressed purpose of making him soar in the stratosphere of sensual delight. My mouth watered and got wet and it all got transferred to the skin of his shaft, making him slip and slide in and out of my mouth smoothly, increasing the pleasure he was getting by a lot and increasing mine by incalculable amounts.

I could hear men coming and going, literally, all around me, as Patti and Mrs. Rappan did their thing, but I paid them no heed. They were just background noises. There was no possible way they would distract me from what had simply become the goal of my life.

To make this cock, and by proxy this man, feel more sensually satisfied than he'd ever felt in his life, without exception, no ifs ands or buts. That was what I was living for.

It became my mission to give this man his most memorable sexual and sensual experience, and while that had also been the goal with the three previous men, this time I meant it right down to the core of me.

I sucked, I slurped, I swallowed, I licked, I kissed, I gurgled, I gobbled, I coated, I tongued, I tantalized, I teased, I bathed, I caressed, I adored, and I honored.

There was no question that I took much longer on cock number four than the others, but it wasn't all me. This man lasted a long time, because he was one of those guys who could, and in this case, he wanted to make it go as long as possible because it was just so freaking marvelous.

The little sounds he made, trying his best to follow the rules, told me all I needed to know.

I gave him the best blowjob of his life.

With tiring lips and a sore tongue, the muscles underneath it surprisingly tender and over-used, I poured one hundred and twenty percent of my emotions and my efforts into sucking and swallowing, and while there was literally no chance, not one, that I could get all of his eight or nine inches into my throat, it didn't deter me from trying.

In the dim light I could see him balling up his hands and then unclenching them, by his sides, and even though there was a very strict rule about no touching, I couldn't help myself, and I reached over and slid my fingers into his, interlacing them, black on white on black on white, like a zebra, and he clenched and I clenched, sending signals to each other of a deep connection, and that what we were doing was important to the both of us, and we acknowledged it, and we both wanted it to never end.

But end it did.

Eventually, his body started bouncing a little bit, his bum moving up and down somewhat on the folding chair, making it creak a little, telling me he was finally getting close to his climax, and the very thought of tasting his seed became overpowering to me, propelling me onward, like the push of the ocean against the rocks, wearing away at the immovable strength of my convictions to suck him forever.

The big bell end of the most perfect cock in the world actually swelled in my mouth, as his whispers turned to tense clenched gasps, just before he began pumping me full of his sweet creamy cum.

And sweet it was!

Swallowing and swallowing to keep up with a prodigious output, his taste was as different from the other men as was his erection. I had no idea what the distinction was, whether it was a genetic thing or if he just ate vastly different foods than the other guys, but mixed in with the usual salty and nutty flavors of a man's cum was a startling creamy sweetness, almost like pineapple, and I loved it!

I savored it, like a fine wine.

Feeling it slither down my pipes and sink into my stomach, joining the other semen from the other men, I wondered if there was some way to bottle it up and sell it to cum-hungry men like me. Women could get it anytime they wanted, just by saying yes, but cross-dressed men like me, living in remote areas, we wouldn't get the same chances or opportunities, so maybe there was a market for it?

When he finally stopped pulsing his seed into my mouth, the perfect cock disappeared, zipped back into a pair of pants, and as he moved to leave, this anonymous man with the finest example of erection ever touched me on the top of my head, transferring the warmth of his skin to me, and I heard the most grateful voice quietly send me a message.

"That was beautiful."

Cock number five paled in comparison, in every way, and to be honest I couldn't wait for it to blast off and be over with, because I felt like I was so full of ejaculate that it was weighing me down, and causing me to burp, which, if you've never had a cum-burp you just can't understand how odd and not-so-great it tastes, and even though I could sense that there was still a line-up of men wanting my services, I'd reached my limit.

For a first night, five cocks seemed like a good amount.

I could be proud of the help I'd given, to make the lives of these men better.

Slipping out of the tent, I stayed in the shadows and skipped home, practically running in my ballet slippers, not worried so much about being seen by anybody, but mostly concerned with avoiding the biggest orgasm of my life in someone else's skirt.

I'd never been so on edge, and ready to shoot off.

Once home, the dildo had barely entered my ass, the skirt safely hung on the back of a chair, along with the turtleneck sweater, before I lost control of my body, and started lurching and wracking in orgasm.

Mrs. Rappan woke me up, sometime later.

She had little dribs of cum on her cheeks, and her lips looked swollen a bit, and she had that glassy-eyed stare again, and she'd stripped off her sundress and her panties but not her industrial bra, and she was holding my penis, somehow either still erect or newly erect, I didn't know which, and she was guiding it into her pussy by sitting down on me.

We both groaned out loud.

She put her hands on my shoulders and used them as a brace, to propel her body down onto my cock, a woman so wet that I just slid in to the hilt.

I held onto her thighs and she started bouncing, the two of us open-mouthed and staring at each other, silently admiring the other's appetite for sex, and getting the same shining back.

"I had to tell Patti," she breathed out, gasping to take air in again, so I interrupted her with my own grunt.

"It's fine!" I snapped, "no talk, just fuck!"

That made her grin, a little, before the concentrated scrunch of her serious-face came back, in one second returning to the business at hand. We started pacing each other. I'd push when she pulled and her wet quim smashed into my body, and it didn't take more than my usual dozen or so strokes until I felt the volcano about to burst.

But Mrs. Rappan beat me to it.

She must have been even hornier than last night. Out of nowhere she started tensing and quaking and her eyes squeezed shut and a tear ran down her cheek and she bellowed some sounds of complete gibberish and then she jolted, once, suddenly as still as a statue, before her belly started to shake and quiver, from the inside, until all of her was shivering, so I flicked off the brakes and sped into bliss, plowing deep inside her.

When we looked at each other after, we both smiled and sighed.

For the first time in my entire life, I'd made a woman orgasm with my penis!

"So," she said, teasingly, after we'd both calmed down, "how was your evening?"

Even in exhaustion, I couldn't contain a laugh.

"It was the best," I said, softly, "it really was."

She nodded, because she understood.

"How many?"

I grinned at her, evil-like.

"Five."

Now it was her turn to laugh.

"I bet your mouth is sore."

I blew out a blast of air.

"You have no idea!" I exclaimed, until she shook her head, and I realized that she did.

"How about you?" I asked.

Mrs. Rappan blushed, for perhaps the first time since I'd known her.

"Seven."

My face burst with surprise.

"SEVEN?"

She smiled.

"Four of them were quick cummers, though, so it's not nearly as impressive as it sounds."

"I had a couple of those myself," I added, and I watched her face move from happy to concerned again, the matronly look I'd seen so many times before.

"Was I right?" she asked, her voice suddenly quiet, "did you love it?"

"Are you kidding?" I blurted out, "it was F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C!"

Grinning, she reached her arm over and faux-patted herself on the back.

"I knew it," she said, "I can spot another weiner slut a mile away."

Absentmindedly, she looked at her watch, and sighed.

"It's getting late, panty man," and she pushed herself up into a sitting position, "Joe needs his meds, and Mama is all worn out now."

On her way out the back door, once cleaned up and dressed again, she stopped and looked at me, expectantly.

"So..."

I nodded.

"Tomorrow night, I'll be ready."

And I was.

I spent the entire day lying on the couch, in lingerie, staring at the ceiling, my mouth open, a non-stop loop of memories from the night before running on the sprockets of my soul. I sauntered into the living room just after nine in the morning and the next time I looked at the clock it was after five p. m.

After wolfing down some microwave pasta, because I needed energy and carbs for what was ahead, I scooted into the shower after covering myself with the goop again, and when Patti and Mrs. Rappan quietly slipped in the back door I was fully dressed and wearing all the jewelry they'd given me.

All I needed was makeup and hair.

Patti took me upstairs and did it all for me, turning me into Diane again, and making me watch in the mirror, so I'd learn the process and the techniques, so in the future I could do it for myself, whenever I wanted.

If I wanted.

That million-watt smile got nova-like when I blurted out that I wanted it "all the time!"

Neither of them had to prod me to walk to the tent. I was ahead of the both of them by a step or two.

As I knelt down in the almost-black booth, I wondered if I'd get to see Superman again. I'd really enjoyed running my hands over his hairy body, way more than I thought I would. His muscles and skin felt like pure energy to me, and I'd spent a good part of my daydreaming wondering what it would feel like to be touching a body like that while being made love to.

While getting fucked.

Although not by his cock, mind you, because, after all, it was remarkably small.

Not anything like the black one I'd sucked

I also spent a fair amount of my day wondering what it would feel like to be fucked by something that big and thick, knowing how much the dildo affects me, its size paling somewhat in comparison to the black man.

My first cock of the second evening was small and thin and put out a veritable flood of pre-cum, sticky but tasteless, and then not so much cum at all when he shot off, but it was delicious nonetheless and my mouth and tongue got to play again, which was heavenly all by itself.

The very act of sucking a cock was a workout, a delightful workout, one that I'd learned to love with my dildo over the years and now one that I was over-the-moon in rapture about, with these real flesh-and-blood-and-cum hard-ons.

The three of us 'ladies' diligently applied our skills, and six different times I got to pole-vault up into a loftier plane of living, the taste and smell and touch of men's cocks filling my wet mouth, satisfying my need to suck, like big nipples, taking me to my most natural and primal self.

My world was devoid of everything, except filling my mouth with cocks, that most intimate of interpersonal communications.

Sexual interaction with others.

It was the highest achievement there could possibly be, as far as I was concerned. Nothing else in life even comes close.

When I swallowed the cum from cock number six, I realized that my belly felt heavy, from all the semen, and my lips and tongue were tired and sore, and coincidentally it was right around the same time that Mrs. Rappan stopped as well, and by the time we were done it was a little later than the night before, so Mrs. Rappan had to run right home after we slipped out of the tent, to make sure Joe got his meds.

Patti once again stayed in the tent, her appetite seemingly endless, like a starving person at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I was a little disquieted that I wouldn't get to slide my erection into a vagina, but I more than made up for that loss by screwing my own pussy, to a toe-curling orgasm.

Like I was possessed with a nuclear power plant of energy, early the next morning I sprung out of bed, refreshed and renewed and glowing with positivity and glee, at my new lifestyle, and how exhilarating it felt being feminine and sexual with other men, and how gratifying it felt to be providing these heroes with moments of pure joy, the least I could do to repay their bravery, realizing that I was going through a blessed experience, with nothing but love and pure lust guiding me.

Short on the makings of breakfast, I threw some sweats on over my panties and stockings and scampered over to the General Store, with the smell of smoke hanging everywhere. Nodding a hello at Alf behind the counter as I walked in the door, I stopped for a second in surprise when I realized the place was empty. There didn't appear to be any other customers in the aisles that I could see or sitting by the coffee machine making Alf wealthier.

"Morning," he said to me, with a friendlier-than-normal smile on his face.

"Morning, Alf," I replied, grinning myself, and added, "not too busy in here yet?"

He shook his head.

"It's still early."

"Business must be booming right now?" I asked, and he slowly nodded.

"I'm not complaining," he said, "but it's all just temporary."

I nodded. I got his point.

"Hopefully sooner than later they'll get that damn fire under control," he said, "and then they'll all be gone, on to the next fire, and things'll get back to normal again around here."

I nodded again.

"But it sure is different now, isn't it? With all these people?" I asked, realizing that just in this one moment he and I had spoken more than in all the rest of our history.

"Yes and no," he replied, "life still goes on for all of us, same as before. Not much has changed, the temporary disruptions notwithstanding."

I'd known the man my entire life. He'd always run the General Store. For most of my years he'd done it with his wife, Mary, but she'd passed a few years ago, for the same reason my Dad did. A life-long pipe smoker, Alf had given that bad habit up after her death, and had always appeared to me to be a relatively healthy man.

Six feet tall, maybe an inch more, he'd come from hearty Nordic stock somewhere in his past, though his sandy-blonde hair had long since turned to grey and gone thin, and the only sign of his age, which had to be mid-to-late sixties as far as I knew, was a stoop. His shoulders seemed to sag a little, perhaps from the weight of life, and one side of him looked taller than the other.

When I put the eggs and bacon on the counter he smiled again.

"Find everything you need?" he asked, ever the gentle salesman.

I nodded.

Alf just stared at me.

For a long few moments his gaze was intense on my face, until he held up one hand, and one finger, wordlessly asking me to stay right where I was, before he slowly sauntered out from behind the counter and headed for the toiletries aisle, where I watched his head move back and forth a couple of times before he grabbed something, or maybe more than one something, and brought them back to the front, plopping them down on the counter beside my food.

One was a plastic sleeve, maybe eight or ten inches long, and inside were dozens of round thin cotton discs.

The other item was a small plastic bottle, maybe five or six inches tall, and after quickly looking at it I could read the words on the label.

Make-up remover.

A jolt of ice-cold worry ran up my spine.

Alf gazed at me again, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking, silence slowly filling the room, until he slowly raised his hand again, and with the same outstretched finger he pointed at his right eye, and held it there.

On the other end of the counter from the cash register was one of those carousel stands with sunglasses and reading glasses that people sometimes need, and at the top was a rectangular mirror, so folks could see what the glasses looked like on their face.

My head snapped over, and I studied my reflection, and the jolt of ice-cold fear became a ferocious lightning strike.

There were obvious tiny traces of sky-blue powder on my right eyelid, close to my nose, and my lashes on the other end were dark, and still thick, and in a heartbeat I was sunk, realizing that my clean-up efforts the night before hadn't been complete.

Alf's face had a gentle smirk on it.

"Like I said," he began, "not much changes around here. But some things do. For instance," and he paused, "a few years ago, the doctor told me I needed a little more exercise, something we all need more of as we get older, right? So I started a new habit, a new routine."

I could feel tremors of shaking in my bones.

"Every evening, after I close the store down, I head upstairs to my apartment and I have a little supper. I try to make it healthy, as much as I can, you know, whole foods and lots of fruits and vegetables, like the experts say. And then, most nights, I go for a walk, along the lakefront."

Somehow I managed to make noise.

"Is that right?"

He nodded, with a smile.

"Oh yes. I've been doing it for years. And of course the doctors are right, it's done wonders for me, it really has. The fresh air, the blood pumping a little, some muscles getting an easy workout, it's all beneficial. And," he added, "I sleep so much better because of it."

Then he leaned his elbows on the counter, bringing his face closer to mine.

"That hasn't changed, even with all these people around. Nobody gets in my way. I get to enjoy the quiet, such as it is now. It's therapeutic, they say, the sound of the water lapping up against the shore, and I know it to be true. And besides, by that point, most of the strangers are sleeping or getting ready to head that way anyway, right? They're exhausted and most of them are up and gone real early in the mornings. So life goes on, the same as it was before."

For just a moment, the ice-cold fire in my nervous system ebbed a little. Maybe, I thought, I wasn't in any danger of being found out.

"But a couple of nights ago," he continued, his voice a little softer, "I was down on the beach, finishing my walk, on the east end, just me, by myself, in the dark. Minding my own business. And then," and he paused, "I hear some footsteps, and, while it's hard for me to make out all the details, in total clarity, being dark as it was, and my eyesight getting a little weaker over the last few years, I make out the shape of three women, walking around the back of one of the tents the firefighters have set up."

I just stared at him, unable to speak.

"Now, two of them, well, I think I see enough to figure out who they are. Patti Knutsen and Joe Rappan's wife. I'm pretty sure it's them. Not a hundred percent sure, mind you, but close enough. But the third woman," and he paused again, "the third woman, well, at first I'm sure I've never seen her before. I get it in my head that she must be one of the strangers in town, like all the rest of them. Except," and he paused yet again, "there's something about her, something I can't quite put my finger on right there and then, that makes me think like, well, maybe I do know her after all. Or maybe I saw her once, but I can't remember where. You know how that is?"

I found the strength to nod.

"Anyway, these ladies get to the edge of the tent and then one of them flips it open a crack, and disappears inside, followed by the other two, and I'm thinking to myself, well, that's kind of odd, isn't it? But, you know, it's none of my business, so I stood there for a couple of minutes enjoying the fresh air. And yeah, I was still curious, wondering what those three ladies were doing, so I watched to see what might happen, but nothing did, right away."

Then his face got flush, and his eyes bored into mine.

"Until."

For some reason, I had to ask. It was like he was waiting for me to ask, like he wouldn't keep going unless I prompted him, as if we were two acquaintances in the village just having an everyday conversation.

"Until what?"

He gave me the look, like he was glad I asked.

"Until one of the firefighters squeezed out of the tent flap. And, yes, I know it was dark, but it wasn't pitch-black and I could make out enough to see, and one look tells me he just had to be a firefighter. He didn't seem like anybody from around here, and I know most folks, same as you I suppose, and I been here a lot longer than you. Plus, well, he just looked like a firefighter, you know? He had that size and shape and look. And the funniest thing is, it appeared to me like he was doing up his belt, or his pants, or maybe his zipper, and I'm thinking, well that's really odd, isn't it? I mean, it's not a porta-potty, is it? It's a tent. And besides which, there's a whole bunch of them porta-potty's next to the pup tents, must be close to twenty of them. But never mind all that," he continued, "I just keep wondering, why would those three women go into that tent if it was a bathroom? At least two of them have bathrooms of their own. I just can't imagine any reason for that. So now, my curiosity has got the better of me, and even though it's none of my business, I get it in my head to take a little peak, if I can, inside the tent, just to find out what was going on. And I'm thinking it's probably nothing, you know? Probably just an innocent occurrence, the odds are. So, all quiet as can be, I get to the corner of the tent and peel back the flap, just enough to get one eyeball's view inside. And what do you think I see?"

I couldn't remember a time when I was more frightened.

"What?"

"I'm sixty-six years old, and I've seen a lot of things in my time. A lot of things. And, I've done a lot of things too. See, I didn't always live in this valley, did you know that? For a few years, way back when I was a young buck, I hoboed around the country, worked when I could, where I could. Travelled by hitchhiking, mostly, but some buses and trains too. I found myself all over, small towns and big cities, and I've seen things most folks around here couldn't imagine."

Then he smiled at me, softly.

"I done some things most folks around here couldn't imagine either."

We stared at each other for a bit.

"Like I said, I've seen a lot of things in my life, but I promise you I never saw anything before like that, like what I saw the other night in that tent. You see, those lovely ladies, well, they was on their knees, on the floor, with men in front of them, firefighting men, and those men were half-naked, the bottom half, mind you, and those lovely ladies, well, let's just say they were making the men feel good."

My voice was dry, and raspy.

"Feel good?"

He nodded.

"Those gals were providing stress relief, for lack of a better term."

I meekly echoed his words.

"Stress relief."

He nodded again, and his voice got even quieter.

"Now, I'm not any kind of peeping Tom," he whispered, "and whatever is going on is none of my business, so I closed the tent flap and went on my way. I left them all to their doings. And I swear," he continued, "I was going to go straight home, like I always do. But, well, the truth is, I couldn't get that third woman's face out of my head, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd maybe seen her before, somewhere. I found myself sitting on that bench outside the barber shop, just waiting to see what I could see."

He gave me the look again, like he wanted me to ask.

"What did you see?"

Alf smiled again.

"Must have been close to an hour, thereabouts, and there was nothing to see. So I was just sitting there, thinking about those women, and what they were doing, and, well, I was admiring them, to be totally honest. I was admiring their spirit, and their, well, let's just call it generosity. I was thinking, what they were doing, well, it's extraordinary! The three of them were giving of themselves, and making those men feel good, real good. They were honoring those men, in my opinion, in a way that most folks around here would be shocked to see. But not me, no sir."

"No?" I asked, a tiny shard of hope entering my terror-filled brain.

He shook his head.

"Not a chance," he said, "like I said, I've seen things, and I've done things, and none of that is shocking to me. Hell no. Exact opposite, telling the truth. I was proud of them. I was as happy as a clam for them. It's nice to see some people still know how to have some fun."

An almost-comfortable silence fell on us.

"I was just aiming to go home when I heard some footsteps, and saw the third woman, the one I keep thinking I might know, and she's almost sprinting, but I gotta say that there's something about the way she runs, or maybe the way she moves, that isn't quite, I don't know, womanly, or feminine, so I watched her, because, well, I'm curious about where she's heading, of course, so I can maybe figure out who she is, plus, I'm thinking, whoever she is, well, she's a lovely sight to look at. Real lovely."

His stare at me was almost soul-revealing.

"Funny thing, though," he continued, "she didn't go in the direction of the motel, or the field with all the fire-fighting people."

"She didn't?" I asked, innocently.

"No," he said, and then his face got even closer to me and his voice got softer, "she went straight to your property, and into the back yard, and then inside your house, I assume, because I didn't see her running anywhere else. And my first thought was, well, good for you. I mean, I don't know you all that well, but you've been in the valley your whole life, hell, I've known you your whole life, and people hear things, local folks know things, and it's common knowledge that you got divorced and then lost your parents not too long after," and he paused, "lovely people, I have to say," and he paused again, "knew them most of my life."

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it.

"So I reckon you've got yourself a new person in your life, which means I haven't got anything but good feelings for you, at that point. I mean, hell, life around here can get lonely, for lots of us, even us old folk, so anybody I know who's having luck in the romance and sex department gets nothing but congratulations from me."

The sliver of hope got a little bigger, until I remembered the make-up on my face.

"Anyway, the next night, last night, I'm on my walk, and wondering, if I might see anything unusual again, and sure enough, those same three ladies come slipping through the dark and into the same tent, and a few minutes later the first firefighter walks out, and even in the dark I can see he's got a smile a mile wide on his face, and I'm standing there, grinning like a fool, and, honestly, I'm wishing it was me, getting that kind of stress relief. And then," he continued, "just like the night before that, after a long time this woman I don't know but think I might know comes a-running out again, and goes straight to your house again, and I'm as pleased as punch to see her again."

"Really?" I asked, a smidge of excitement rising in my heart.

Alf nodded, slowly.

"Reminds me of someone I used to know, back in the day," he whispered, "her looks and her gait, they're unique, and I've seen it before, and, well, other than Mary, rest her soul, the special woman I'm thinking of was the love of my life, and a beautiful soul."

Then his gaze on me became intense, and direct.

"She was a special woman," he repeated, his voice as quiet as a ghost and yet piercing into my head. "Do you know what I mean, when I call her a special woman?"

He emphasized the word, 'special'.

For some reason, the ice-cold jolts were calming, and I wasn't feeling as frightened about being outed in the community, just based on his body language and the softness of his voice.

"I think so," I answered.

We stared at each other for a few moments, in silence.

My jolts got less and less as we went.

"What's her name?" he asked, and when I gave him a look of not being entirely sure who he was referring to, he added, "the lovely special woman in your house?"

There seemed no point in lying.

"Diane."

He nodded, appreciatively.

"Well," he whispered, "maybe one day I might be blessed to meet someone like Diane."

The look in his eyes was almost plaintive.

"Been a long time since I lost Mary, and, like I said, even us old folks get lonely. And," he added, with a smile, "some of us old folks wouldn't mind some stress relief once in a while too."

We both snapped our heads to look when the bell above the front door dingled, and watched two strangers walk in, heading for the coffee machine, so Alf stood back up and reached under the counter for a paper bag, carefully loading the food I'd picked and the toiletries he'd picked before handing it to me.

He had the warmest look on his face.

"With my compliments," he said, waving his hand slightly at the twenty dollar bill I was offering him, and then he leaned close to me, conspiratorially, and whispered.

"Tell Diane to tell the two other ladies that their secret is safe with me, and I admire what they're doing. Them firefighters are lucky men."

Two more strangers came in the door, ruining the quiet of our conversation, so I took the bag from Alf's hand and thanked him.

"See you, Alf," I said, some definite softness in my voice.

"Hope so," he replied.

I had to turn my head twice on my jaunt home, just to make sure people passing by didn't get a good glimpse of the right side of my face.

When the ladies showed up at my house that night, I was dressed and ready to go, having done my own make-up and hair, but I had to sit them down first, and tell them, and they could both see the worry on my face.

"Alf knows."

They reacted with quizzical looks on their faces, with Mrs. Rappan speaking first.

"Alf knows what?"

"Alf knows what's going on. He knows what we're doing. He saw us, going in the tent," I said, making Mrs. Rappan's eyes pop open in worry, while Patti's reaction was far more subdued and cautious.

After explaining what had happened both nights, almost verbatim, I told them what Alf had said right at the end.

"He wants us to know that our secret is safe with him, and that he admires what we're doing."

Patti's eyes got wide with confusion.

"But... why would he tell you?"

Mrs. Rappan made a loud 'tsk' sound, as if she thought her best friend was being an idiot, as if she was saying, 'well, duh!', and then looked at me with motherly concern.

"He recognized you?"

I nodded, while Patti's face morphed into genuine surprise and then concern, for me, suddenly and truly understanding what was going on.

"Oh my god!" she said, and held her hands up to her mouth, "oh my god! He knows that Diane is you?"

Mrs. Rappan came over to me and put her arm around my shoulders, to comfort me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, serious concern in her voice.

For some reason, I had to grin, a little.

"I'm fine," I said, "its fine. He won't be telling anyone about any of us," and I added, "none of us have to worry about the locals finding out and dealing with all that small-town gossip."

Patti came over and put one of her arms around me as well, the three of us forming a loose triangle.

"Are you sure?" she asked, worried, "I mean, it doesn't matter much to me, if the rumors start spreading that I'm some sort of, I don't know, slut or something, because I'm single and I'm not dead yet and I won't apologize for having desires," and she didn't have to try hard to force a smile, "and I don't care if people want to talk or whisper about me behind my back. I'm having the time of my life, and if some folks don't like it, well, screw them."

Then she looked at her best friend.

"But you two," she said, pausing, her tone seriously worried, and before she could finish Mrs. Rappan made the 'tsk' sound again and shrugged, as if it was no big deal to her.

"You're certain Alf won't tell anybody?" she asked me.

"He won't," I promised, "because he made it pretty obvious, he even said it, that folks get lonely, and even a man of his age would love the kind of 'stress relief' we're giving, and," not able to stop a swelling feeling of pride in myself, as the female me, I added, "he also said he hoped he'd get to meet someone like Diane someday, because he'd already had a 'special woman' in his life, a long time ago, and he knows what's under this skirt I'm wearing."

Patti's million-watt smile popped back up.

"Oooh," she giggled, "speaking of which, I brought you a present!" and then she ran out of the room and down the stairs.

Mrs. Rappan kept her arm around me, staring me in the eyes, challenging me to give her my honest feelings, in case I was putting up a brave face in front of Patti.

"I'm sure of it," I told her, "those rumors you heard all those years ago about Alf having done things with other men, back in his wild days, they're true."

She smiled, like she knew something wonderful.

"And you're going to find out what it's like to be fucked by a real cock, attached to a real man, aren't you?" she asked, knowingly, "like you've fantasized about for all this time?"

I couldn't nod fast enough.

Mrs. Rappan leaned over and kissed me, on the cheek.

"Good for you, Diane," she said, warmly, "but," and then she stopped and looked at me all-serious-like, "you better not switch teams on me, lady, or go full-out gay on me. I'm still going to expect my twice-a-week fun."

I leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

"I couldn't possibly say no to you," I said, honestly.

Patti's steps got louder and then she breezed into the room, holding what looked like a folded up scarf.

When she unfolded it, it became an iconic item of apparel.

"Alf knows what's under that skirt you're wearing," she said, "but a woman needs more than one, so I brought you this."

She was holding something that young women wear to private schools all around the world. In a precise plaid pattern of greyish-blue and dark-green, she held a high-waisted skirt, a shiny zipper at the back, with a pleated hem, and barely long enough to cover a crotch.

"I haven't worn this in years, and probably never will again. I'm too old to carry the look off," she sighed, "but you're young enough to look absolutely smashing in it."

My first thought came right out of my mouth.

"But it's so short people will see the tops of my stockings!"

Patti grinned and nodded.

"That's the idea. It's sexy as hell."

Arm in arm, the three of us made our way to the tent, me wearing my new skirt, showing off not only the lace tops of my stockings, but also the snow-white skin of my upper thighs, which never get any sun, the whole time hoping that I would be seen, that people would be out and about and look over and see me, a man who was absolutely revelling in dressing like a woman and acting like one.

After Mrs. Rappan and Patti slipped into the tent, I paused, and looked out towards the edge of the lake. I couldn't make out any humans standing there, because it was too dark, but just in case Alf was watching, I pursed my lips and then kissed my own fingers, before laying my hand flat and blowing a kiss, directly towards where he might be.

Settled on the rolled-up blanket on the floor, I waited for my first man, my heart fairly leaping when I came face-to-crotch with my very first repeat customer.

My Superman.

I recognized his shape and his coveralls first, which inspired me to look up again, against Patti's recommendation, but this time he wasn't staring straight ahead at the tent wall.

This time, he was staring down at me, and in the weak available light I could see his eyes were wet and liquidy.

And this time, instead of standing like a super-hero, hands on hips, he sat down on the folding chair, his gaze so intense on me that I actually blushed, and felt the blood rush to the surface of my skin.

Reaching up with both hands to undo his zipper, to get things started, I put my palms down on his barrel-chest, and felt his heart thumping away inside his rib cage, before sliding them up to the top of his jumpsuit.

Which is when he broke the cardinal rule, the number one no-no.

His big hands came up quickly and grabbed gently onto my wrists, and for the briefest of seconds I prepared myself to yell out the word, "NO!", which is what we three ladies were instructed to do should any man try to touch us in any way, but two things made me stay quiet.

The first was a vibe I was sensing, a feeling, that he wasn't actually threatening me in any way, his hands holding my wrists weren't even that tight. And the second was the look on his face.

He almost appeared to be shaking.

He looked as if he was struggling, as if he was fighting an emotion, a fear, deep inside of him, and close to losing the battle.

He held my hands together, my palms touching, gently, before he leaned his big bearded head down and placed the most loving and gentle kiss on the back of each hand, first my left one and then my right one, before he lightly kissed the tips of my fingers.

Then, just loud enough for me to hear but no one else nearby, he spoke.

"Can I hold you?"

Before I could answer, he whispered again.

"I just want to hold someone."

There was a world of tension and worry in his voice, even in a whisper, and I could hear some of the vowels cracking, in a heartbeat realizing that this huge strong brave man was emotional, perhaps the weight of his job and the experiences he was going through too much to bear for him.

I stood up and with my legs on his left side I sat my bum on his right thigh, a huge and strong pillow for me, and then twisted my upper body to my left so we could hug.

His arms came around my torso, hesitantly at first but them more strongly after a few seconds, his big hands caressing up and down my back, giving me for the first time the thrill that women get to feel all their lives, the tingling sensation of a man's hands moving over my bra strap, so my arms went over his shoulders, and around his big head, which he immediately buried in my neck.

We clung to each other, gripping at each other, as if we were the only two people on the planet, and it didn't take more than a minute or so before I could feel his shoulders shaking, and realized that he was sobbing, silently, doing his best to not break the rules about noise, and it made me scared, for him.

Clutching him tighter to me, I realized that even the strongest and bravest of men could still feel fear, and terror, and as I began to wonder what had happened to him earlier, out in the bush, and whether perhaps he'd come close to his own mortality, unexpectedly caught in some sort of instant momentary maelstrom, I tried to let him know that he was safe, that he was alive and well and not in danger, and that even though he was miles from home and nowhere near his loved ones or any sense of normalcy and comfort, that I was here for him.

He made little gasps, in-between his shudders, as he silently cried out his fright, until the shuddering ceased and he began placing tiny little kisses on the side of my neck, initially brief but becoming heavier and heavier, until I was squirming in his lap, the feelings of his lips on my skin igniting a fuse inside me, burning towards the inevitable explosion, like a stick of dynamite.

The hairs of his big bushy beard were ticklish, as his kisses moved slowly from my neck to my jaw and then my cheeks, working their way methodically to my mouth, giving me a few seconds to realize that a man was about to kiss me on the lips. And that was something I'd never done and hadn't given any thought to, the whole romantic aspect of sex something I'd not considered in all my dreams about being with men, only ever having thought about the blowjobs and the penetration, and for the briefest of flicks of time I felt a tinge of nervousness, at the idea of something so, well, gay, before the reality of all the changes I'd happily gone through and the stark reminder of what I'd already done, the clothes and the make-up and the semen-eating and the sucking on cocks and the being fucked by dildos, the weight of the obvious erased any hesitations.

I let him kiss me.

I kissed him back.

I welcomed his tongue in my mouth.

I tasted it, I caressed it, I sucked on it, I let it love me and I loved it right back.

We kissed and made out for a long time, fluidly varying our pace, sometimes soft and slow, and other times fast and furious, and I was as hard as granite in my panties and my sexy short skirt, so much that my bum was bouncing up and down on his meaty thigh, trying to get my own tiny movements to satisfy my burning need to cum.

Eventually our kissing slowed, and then finally stopped, and we both quietly gasped for air, our heads beside the other, our ears touching, until he cleared his throat a little and I stood up, swivelling my feet to get back to my original spot, on my knees, in front of him, because I could see a little bulge in his coveralls and I wanted to suck his cock more than anything in the world, but he surprised me and stood up, one hand wiping his cheeks of tears and the other reaching down to cup my chin, softly, before whispering the words, "thank you", and then slipping away and out of the tent.

I'd never been happier, or prouder.

I'd never felt more attractive, or considered myself as caring and giving a person.

Making a man whole again had lit a flame of passion in me.

My next man shuffled into place, a tiny human, not much bigger than a dwarf, but when he dropped his pants and sat down I saw the biggest erection I'd ever seen.

Life a freak of nature, this short man was hung like a horse, and it was as stiffly-erect as a railroad track, even longer and thicker than my black man from the first night, and in one second my mouth watered like Niagara Falls and in the next second that cock was inside me.

I couldn't get all of his cock in me, but I tried.

Both Ellen and Mrs. Rappan had shown me, too many times to count, how to swallow a cock, and I emulated them as best I could, swallow after swallow after swallow, and I managed to get most of his eight or nine inches in, constantly bathing it in saliva, getting his skin slick, and I was determined to succeed, but before I could go the final distance I heard him make a kind of choking sound, before he started rocking his groin on the chair and pushing out a steady seep of yummy cum.

No hand towel required.

I gave two more blowjobs, the whole time realizing that while most of my desires were being more than sated, more than satisfied, there was an itch in the back of my brain for one aspect of my new-found sexuality that still wasn't being met, and could be.

The solution was barely a two-minute walk away.

I could see a light on, upstairs, above the General Store, as I walked towards it, and after slipping around the back, where I knew there was a staircase up to the top floor, I knocked on Alf's door.

When he opened it, he looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Well hello, Diane," he said, and then his eyes scanned me, from head to toe and back again, before focussing directly on my middle, at the bottom of the skirt and the tops of my stockings, "do what do I owe this pleasure?"

He had a laconic grin on his face.

"I wanted to introduce myself," I said, softly, "as your new neighbor. I was hoping we'd get the chance to get to know each other, if that's something you'd like."

Alf eyes opened wide, and he stood up straighter, so his stoop was hardly noticeable.

"I would like that, very much" he answered, swinging the door open, "won't you please come in?"

I walked inside, past him, swaying my hips.

After he closed the door behind me, he asked me if I wanted a refreshment, and that he had just brewed a pot of tea, and went to his kitchen to pour me some while I sat on his sofa.

Once sat next to me, he raised his cup, silently bidding me to do the same, and we clinked them together.

"To new and beautiful friendships," he toasted, and I felt a fire of warmth rise up in me.

Silently watching each other sip tea, the both of us had a delicious grin on our faces.

There was no conversation. There didn't need to be any.

Two more sips of the tea and I leaned forward and placed my cup on the coffee table, and then slowly took his from his hand and did the same, and then turned to him, and he nodded, and I melted into his arms.

Alf made me the happiest feminine man in the world with his kisses. They were delicate, and dainty, and delightful, filling me with a softness of spirit that was far more than the extraordinary highs of wearing women's clothes and performing fellatio on strange men. A range of the most positive emotions swelled up in me, knowing through his gentle lips and tongue that he was the right man for me to make love with.

He offered to carry me to the bedroom, but I remembered that he was sixty-six years old, with a stoop, so we walked hand-in-hand, after he turned out all the lights in his apartment.

Once there, he stood and watched me as I gracefully lay down on my side, on the mattress, while he slowly took his clothes off, and we both heard the pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall on his roof, almost like a metronome. His chest was a little flabby, but would have been curved and noticeable in his younger days, and there was spread below, but when he finally stood naked in front of me I saw a man, a masculine, strong man, with the most unusual erection.

The head of his cock was large, and prominent, and yet the shaft was thin and narrow. It looked like someone had stuck a huge plum onto a sawed-off broom handle. And his testicles, his bag, was thin and droopy, hanging lower than I've ever seen, and I couldn't wait to touch them and feel them and kiss them and take them into my mouth.

After laying with me, we took up right where we'd left off, wrapping our arms around each other and kissing, softly and sweetly, except this time we could press our entire lengths into each other, and he could feel on his bare skin the satiny fabric of my turtleneck, and the soft downy caress of my new skirt, and on his legs he got to feel the kiss of silk stockings.

Mostly he got to feel my own erection, barely contained by the G-string panties I was wearing, stretching them to their limit.

Fully expecting that the natural order of things would be for me to kiss my way down his body until I could take him into my mouth, and give him the 'stress relief' he'd wanted, instead it was Alf who began a downward descent, kissing my chest and then pulling up my sweater to nip at my nipples under the bra, making me moan, before he went further, flipping my skirt back and then kissing my throbbing penis.

Quickly pulling my panties off altogether, he jumped back into place, and with his hands he slid them under my legs and began pushing on them, bringing them up and back, and I found myself folding at the hips and soon the front of my thighs were touching my chest, and in the space of a meteor shooting across the sky he took me from excited to jubilant when his tongue dove into my hole.

He knew how to prepare a special woman like me for what was about to happen.

He'd done this before.

That much was as plain as day.

With a prodigious amount of saliva he got me as wet as can be, and on the edge of exploding cum everywhere, before reaching over to his night table and pulling a small jar out of the drawer, one I recognized from his store. Vaseline petroleum jelly.

Coating his thin shaft and bulbous head first, he then took two of his fingers and, once covered in a big blob, he insistently pierced my center, in one determined push, rotating them as he went in and out, getting me slick inside for the first few inches.

I didn't need to ask what position he wanted me in.

It was obvious.

Missionary.

The man facing who he's fucking.

Eye to eye, nose to nose, chin to chin, chest to chest, between my splayed legs, Alf teased me for a few seconds by just seating himself in the curve of my entrance and then not moving, so I gripped at his shoulders with my hands and wriggled my bum as best I could, trying to capture him, but he moved with me, sensing my attempts, anticipating which direction I'd go, just confirming again that this was not the first time he'd bedded a 'special woman' like me.

When he finally did enter me, it was slow and methodical, with care and concern, as if he knew his huge cock head would be a struggle for me to take, but once in and accepted, the rest of him would slide in easy as pie, and he watched the ripples of reactions from me, from the initial stress and strain, the discomfort, through the explosion of nerve endings inside going ballistic at the enormity of the stretch they were being forced to do, until with a popping motion his flared ridge sunk into me, and my ring got to retract back from the tiny agonies, gripping onto his thinner shaft, and my back arched, not going too far under the weight of Alf's body, and I let loose with as feral and guttural and obscene a moan as I've ever heard.

Making love was the most extraordinary moment of my life.

I knew it, right there and right then.

It changed me.

Taking a man's cock into me changed me, in ways too many for me to appreciate in that moment.

But I was no longer the horny little panty man that I'd been for months and months and months.

I had graduated, into something more.

I was a full-fledged feminine sexual man!

And in the ultimate expression of love and the ultimate level of joy, I had a man inside me!

I had a man making love to me, sweetly at first, almost gently, until after a few minutes he began to pick up steam, and move the both of us to higher highs. Minute after minute, he slowly got faster and harder, like a motor revving up in RPM, but on a structured pace, never getting ahead of himself too quickly, so I could enjoy every plateau of taking a cock.

When our bodies were slamming together and the bed was shaking and neither of us could contain our groans and gasps, Alf changed his angle of attack on one particular thrust, and that was the final step for me, my whole body cramping up into one gigantic tight knot, everything frozen, including my hole, clamped tight on his shaft, not letting him move, and I came and came and came and came, in lurches.

I was so overcome with my orgasm that I barely noticed that Alf was red-faced and breathing heavily, until just at the last second, when it occurred to me that he was about to cum, so I seethed out what I felt.

"CUM INSIDE ME, ALF! BREED ME!"

We napped.

Just before the sun came up, when it was still dark and still raining, I had to leave and get back to my own house, so no one would see me, but only after Alf made love to me again, just like my first time with Mrs. Rappan, from behind, doggy style, and the both of us came again in pulsing throbs.

With only a couple of hours sleep, I bounded into the General Store on a bright sunny morning, no smoke in the sky, and saw Alf, behind the counter, talking to a handful of strangers. I didn't really need to buy anything, I just wanted to see him again and thank him for the greatest adventure of my life.

Mrs. Rappan was in the bakery aisle, so I casually joined her, pretending to look at loaves of bread.

"Where did you disappear to last night?" she asked quietly, with a playful smile, before answering her own question, "I bet you were at Alf's place, weren't you, being a slutty panty man?"

The look on my face told her the answer.

"How was it?" she asked.

"The best. It was the best night of my life."

She put a fake, 'I'm offended' look on her face, and then it disappeared.

"I'm happy for you, panty man," she whispered, "but don't forget your promise."

I shook my head.

"Never."

For a few seconds, we stared at each other, as only experienced lovers do.

"Did you hear?" she finally asked, "the rain last night put a big damper on that fire nearby," and then she frowned, "and it's possible all the men might be leaving soon. Maybe in the next couple of days."

I was filled with some of the same disappointment she was feeling, at the probable loss of our fun evenings, so I sighed.

"It had to happen. We both knew it."

She begrudgingly nodded.

"Patti's going to follow them in her RV. I think she's a little sweet on that guy, the one who set up the tent for us. I'm pretty sure he's finding time in his days to sneak up to her place and diddle."

That made me giggle.

"So let's just enjoy the heck out of it for as long as we can."

She nodded her understanding.

"And," I added, "after they're gone, we'll go back to how we were before, and make do making each other cum, as often as we like."

Mrs. Rappan grinned.

"And you'll have Alf too?"

Now it was my turn to grin.

"As often as we like."

She practically laughed.

"That's why I love you, panty man. You're the horniest man I ever met."

The three of us cocksuckers had four more nights of providing moral support and stress relief by giving blowjobs. On two of those nights, after I'd made several heroes happy and had a belly full of cum, I'd slip over to Alf's, and we made love.

Nothing lasts forever, and so in remote areas you take what you can get. I can't say how long I'll be lucky enough to be sexual with the both of them, but I assume it'll be a long time. They're both wonderfully sexual people, and none of us are going anywhere, living our best lives here in the valley.

Patti travels some and is home some. She's enjoying her life of meeting her guy once in a while for a few days of what she calls 'wicked good sex', and I'm as happy as can be for her.

And there's always next summer.

As much as nobody wants natural disasters like forest fires, they happen, and they're getting larger and stronger every year. So I don't have any doubt that at some point our little village will be inundated with men again, dedicating their labor and their toil to saving people like us.

And I'm sure that all three of us will be back in the tent, making heroes as happy as we can by sucking cock.

Desperate measures, after all.

THE END