The next morning he was up early, as always, but this time he woke me too.
“Hey, sleepy butt, come on,” he said, tugging on my arm.
Now I’m not a morning person so I grumbled and tried to stay in bed, but he literally dragged me out.
“WHAT!?” I grumbled, working on my first cup of coffee.
“You’ve asked a few times what a cowboy does,” I said, “I thought I’d show you.”
He was busy cooking and I was busy trying to get my heart beating.
“Cowboy breakfast,” he said, putting a plate in front of me.
“Jesus,” I said, looking at the pile of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice, “trying to fatten me up?”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” he said, chuckling, and sitting opposite me.
“So,” I said between bites, “why do you have me up at this hour?”
“You need to get out,” he said, “and it’s my day to ride fence so you’ll see some truly beautiful places.”
“I don’t ride,” I said.
“You’ll do fine,” he said with a mysterious smile.
I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and said, “Okay, Sherpa guide, show me.”
I hadn’t been to the ranch where he worked, and it was beautiful on its own. Fortunately, it wasn’t horses we were to ride. Rather, he went into a barn and came out riding an all-terrain vehicle, something the decals told me was a Honda Pioneer. It was surprisingly comfortable, the suspension making it sort of push up on my butt rather than rattle my teeth.
And it turned out, “riding fence” was actually, well, riding the fence.
“The K-Bar-T is about 7,500 acres,” he explained, as we rode along, “dating back to a land grant in the 1700s.”
And it was beautiful. We had been riding for an hour, so we were miles from any road when he stopped. There was a place in the fence where the barbed wire was hanging loose. I watched, smiling, as he opened the little trunk on the machine and got out a tool, painted bright yellow, and started working to mend the fence. I had no idea what he was doing, but in about 15 minutes the wire was taut again.
“And this,” he said, grinning as he started the engine and we continued along the fence, “is what a cowboy does in the 21st century.”
He patched another three spots and as we were riding along he said, “close your eyes.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, so I did.
We went along, the ride almost soporific with nothing to watch, for about a minute, and then he stopped.
“Okay, Susan,” he said, “open them.”
I couldn’t help but gasp.
Spread across in front of me was one of those beautiful alpine valleys that artists only dream of. The whole thing was a riot of color, from pastel shades of blue, barely not-quite-white, to the deepest, brightest red, the red that set the standard for all other reds. And in the background was the classic bahis şirketleri sawtooth alpine mountain scene that made you realize where the phrase “purple mountains majesty” came from.
I just stared.
I heard him chuckle and turned to look at him.
He was smiling.
“My favorite place, Susan,” he said, “and so you know, you are the first woman I ever brought here.”
I didn’t say anything while he restarted the vehicle and we went ahead another few hundred yards across the valley.
He turned off the engine and said, “wait.”
So I waited, watching as he opened the little trunk again and got out an actual, honest-to-God, woven wood strip picnic basket. He moved a few yards and opened the basket, pulling out a red checkerboard patterned blanket and spreading it. Then he set out a picnic. He had a couple of loaves of bread, a half dozen kinds of cheese, three big sausages, apples, oranges, a big Hershey bar, and a wineskin.
“Come along, dear,” he said, offering his hand, and I let him lead me.
At the blanket, he undressed me. It wasn’t foreplay or anything, but it was slow and sensual with a lot of compliments.
I liked it.
Then I was naked, and it was pleasant, the sun and the air were warm, and there’s always something about being naked outside that’s erotic.
He reached into his magic basked and pulled out a little bag which he blew up into a small pillow.
“Lay back,” he said, helping me to sit and then lay back, my head on the pillow.
I watched as he took out his pocket knife and began cutting cheese and sausage and apples into bite-sized pieces that he put onto a plate, something else retrieved from his magic picnic basket.
“One more thing,” he said, reaching into the basket again and pulling out a sleep mask which, of course, serves as an excellent blindfold.
He put the blindfold on me and suddenly the other senses took over for lost sight. I heard the faint hum of the bees and other flies of the meadow, smelled the perfume of a thousand different flowers, and felt the soft caress of the breeze on my skin. He touched my lips with something wet and cold and I accepted the bite of apple. It was tart and delicious.
His finger touched my nipple as I chewed, and I flinched.
The next bite was a spicy bit of sausage, the next touch to my belly, low, tracing the triangle of my pubic hair.
The nipple of the wineskin touched my lips and the wine was dry and harsh and delicious.
The next bite was soft Muenster cheese.
And the next touch found my clitoris.
I have no idea how long the feeding lasted. A bite or a drink, followed by a touch.
I liked the isolation. When his touch brought me to climax I screamed, enjoying the freedom to do so with absolute bahis firmaları abandon.
I screamed many times that afternoon until he finally removed the blindfold and offered me his hand again. I watched as he undressed and then followed as he walked away toward a little copse of trees, calling, “come along,” over his shoulder.
I followed, feeling like something out of a fantasy story as I walked naked across the meadow. It would not have surprised me to look up and see a dragon in the sky.
He suddenly took off running and then I heard a loud “Geronimo,” and a splash.
He was treading water in a swimming hole out of a romance novel, tall trees and thick grass making a cushioned bank.
“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he said, blowing out a mouthful.
And I thought, “why not,” and took off running.
My own screamed “Geronimo” was cut short when I hit the water.
Christ, it was like ice. It was so cold I couldn’t breathe. I felt my heart suddenly hammer in reaction. As I started for the bank, to escape this torture, and it was torture, my skin was freezing and on fire at the same time, I felt him grab my ankle and pull me back.
“I thought you Colorado girls were supposed to be tough,” he said, laughing, but I noticed that his teeth were chattering too.
“B-b-b-b-but w-w-w-w-we’re n-n-n-n-n-not f-f-f-f-f-fucking c-c-c-c-c-c-CRAZY y-y-y-y-you f-f-f-f-f-fucking W-w-w-w-w-wyoming c-c-c-c-c-c-c-cowboy,” I shrieked, trying to get to the bank.
He wrapped me in his arms and kissed me, a chattering, slick kiss.
Then he led me out.
I was shivering uncontrollably as we walked back to the picnic blanket and as he pulled a towel from the trunk of the little vehicle and started drying me.
My teeth were still chattering as he embraced me and started using his hands, rubbing rapidly, friction bringing some warmth to my skin.
“J-Jesus Ch-christ,” I managed, getting myself more or less under control, “I think m-m-my fucking heart s-s-s-stopped.”
He laughed and kept rubbing.
As it happens sometimes, things changed and the rubbing turned to caresses and embraces and kisses.
We made love wrapped in the picnic ground cloth. It was slow and easy and lingering. He was on top for a while, taking me close before pulling out and pulling me on top where I slowed things down.
“Wait for me, now, ” I said, the womanrhythm of my hips speeding up.
He grinned and found my breasts, a bit sore, with his hands.
“Then hurry,” he said, squeezing hard enough to get me to groan and then the electric tingle deep in my belly started to blow up.
“Okay, cowboy,” I said, “that got to me,” letting my rhythm speed up.
“Good, cowgirl,” he said, “now get that pretty ass going,” and his hands found my hips.
“Okay,” kaçak bahis siteleri I said, “come on.”
“Nuh uh,” he said, “wait for me.”
Holding back like that was hard, but I wanted mutual here.
“Come on, baby,” I panted, “please.”
He dug his fingers in, HARD, making me groan and taking away the immediate urgency I was feeling.
“Wait for me,” he said.
“PLEASE, GODDAMIT!” I yelled, my hips working, each thrust a tiny pain as our pubic bones met and a sharp electric shock.
“Make me,” he said, and his grin was pure male.
So I stopped moving.
Oh, the urgency, the pure womanneed was there, but there was something else too. I had finally met a man who was my equal sexually and I was reveling in it.
We held each other’s eyes for some measurable fraction of eternity, not moving, just sharing that special moment when two bodies are truly one. This was beyond sex or passion. This was almost supernatural. It was almost biblical.
And that pressure so deep in my belly was beyond anything I had even imagined during three years of having a different man every night.
Just as I thought I would explode, that I had to have release, his voice held me back.
“Wait for me, Susan,” he said, softly.
So I waited, that amazing tension in my body holding at that level.
“How,” I asked, my eyes never leaving his, “can you know so much about my body?”
He smiled, not The Grin, but a smile.
“Toldya,” he said, “gramma.”
Then he grinned and said, “Okay, now.”
He thrust suddenly, several times, quickly, almost a vibration although slower.
And I had absolutely no hope of holding back. I screamed again and this time when I came I thought maybe I had lost bladder control. I came hard, hell, I came harder than I ever had or imagined I could. Every muscle fiber tightened. I was suddenly rigid. I couldn’t draw a breath or I’d have probably screamed again. My head was thrown back, my mouth wide open, and I was trying to draw a breath.
He held still for a few seconds and then did it again, having exactly the same effect on me again.
I finally drew a breath, knowing I must sound like someone who had come close to drowning and was finally breaking the surface.
I shuddered again, my body still rigid.
It was mutual this time, though, as I’d hoped.
I squeezed with well-trained muscles and it was his turn to gasp.
I leaned forward, supporting myself and looking down at him. I squeezed again and liked that I could at least make his eyes get big.
I kissed him, a long, lingering, thorough kiss that I held until he softened and slipped out as men do.
“Wow,” I said, settling onto him.
“Yeah, wow,” he said, holding me gently, his hands running up and down.
“You ARE going to tell me about gramma,” I said.
He chuckled, deep in his throat, and said, very drowsily, “later.”
It was my turn to chuckle when I felt the relaxation as he dozed.
Well, it’s not like I was very far behind him.