RANCHER'S WIFE - CHAPTER FIVE: free porn video

CHAPTER FIVE:

I wasn’t sure what the next day was going to bring. Heck, I wasn’t even that sure what that night was going to bring. As it turned out, it was for a good reason. After my tease, we got into bed naked, I curled up comfortably with him spooned up into my back … and promptly fell asleep. I was tired, emotionally exhausted by the day, and relieved as if a tremendous weight was suddenly removed from me. And, I suppose, it was in a way. I had carried around the guilt of my past, the frustration and emptiness of an unresolved conclusion, and the hopefulness, maybe even unrealistically high hopefulness, of this man I was now sharing not only a bed, but a life with. Before entering into the events of last night, two of the three seemed to be headed for unbelievably positive outcomes. Not only did my hopes for this man seem realistic, they seemed to be even unstated to the reality I was finding. I found myself at times cautioning myself against a letdown. Given my experience with relationships and picking men, surely this would also end in some disappointment if not outright disaster. But, it didn’t, it only continued to get better, get more solid, and get strengthened by earned trust.

And, the guilt, guilt over my weakness and acceptance of such an existence … what guilt? It had been exactly like that … a realization one day that I no longer felt that guilt. If there is a diametric opposite of mind numbing, this was it. I had lived an adult life of guilt, of falling victim to men, of acceptance of that victimhood, of the things that I did or were done to me, and, maybe the most guilt producing, of my inability to break the cycle of use and abuse that had become my mere existence. But, that man, this man behind me now, the one that had to be too good to be true, the one that proved over and over that he was really that good, that man refused to allow me to live in that guilt, in that place of low, or no, self-esteem. He pulled me out, set me onto firm ground, and watched over me. Then, patiently, he pulled me out, again. And, again. He continued, refusing to accept the place I had lived. When I looked at myself, what I began seeing was a strong woman, a woman capable of things I hadn’t considered. I also saw a woman, through his eyes, that was desired, needed, wanted, and trusted.

That brought me to the frustration and emptiness of an unresolved conclusion in the judicial process. Now, to be honest with myself, I only have renewed hope, and reason to hope, that the judicial process will draw to a satisfying conclusion now. But, in a sense, even that judicial process conclusion isn’t as important. That woman that I see in the mirror now, that strong woman I see now in my reflection, last night she blew away that bastard’s knees. No trembling hands, no fear in the execution of the act, and no self-recrimination now. Should I be proud of that? I don’t know that I am proud of it. But, I am not sorry. Last night not only gave me that sense of resolution personally, but saved two other women, will probably put four bastards behind bars, and provided the FBI with leads on multiple fronts for further investigation.

It is early morning and it is out of character, but I am awake and Mitch is not. Those satisfying thoughts have been through my mind, having the effect of energizing me for further exploration and development, and I am watching the light outside slowly brighten. I push up against him, but he is on his back, not his side, and pushing into him is not nearly the contact I was hoping for. Without seeing him, I knew he was sound asleep. His regular, shallow breathing, and his snoring. On his back equals snoring. It is not an awful sound, not at all something that is bothersome, but somehow endearing and comforting. I love that I already know little things like this about him that can make me smile. Things like the way he curls his toes into the grass when he first goes outside barefoot; like the way he flexes his quadriceps in his thighs when driving, that I only know because I like to touch him, if only his leg; and like the way he’ll carry on a conversation with Blackie, but only if he thinks they are alone. These and many more things that can bring a smile to me just with the thought and experiencing them over. These simple little things from this big, tough, Army Ranger who lived Black Ops missions and presents an image of ‘no fear’ … now he’s my rancher.

When your life changes this dramatically, it is easy to thank your stars or your luck. Or, it is easy to be overwhelmed and intimidated by the gift you have been given, thereby doing anything and everything you can in a vain attempt to repay that gift. I knew what happened wasn’t fate and certainly not luck. It was this man. And, completely bewildering to me, he sought nothing, he only continued to give: safety, protection, security from the outside, time to mend physically, and even more time to heal mentally and emotionally. He completely rejected my attempt to give myself to him whether in the old ‘you saved my life so my life is now yours’, or that I might try to give in service to him out of gratitude. The only thing I could give him was what I managed to give out of free-will and my own control of myself. I sighed long and several times … perhaps the one thing that was the hardest for me to accomplish. But, in the process of that struggle to accomplish just that, I did grow in strength and confidence. I rolled into him, sliding my leg over his, my hand on his chest, feeling his chest rise slowly in sleep. I stroked lazily up to his strong, developed chest and down to his stomach. That insistence from him, that stubborn insistence, ended up providing me with an even greater gift, the gift of independence of my will, to give and reject as I wanted, to be my own person, selfishly if I chose or loving and giving if I chose.

I obviously chose the latter. I was intent now to be the best of the parts that were me. He wanted to know me, to be interacting and engaging the real me, not a pretend me that was only trying to make him happy, anticipate what he wanted, or giving him less of me than I had to offer. He gave me that freedom of will, I was now going to experience it in the life I had left.

Free-will meant taking joy and pleasure for myself as well as for others and right now, this instant, that joy and pleasure was within inches of my hand as it went lower and lower on his stomach. I knew my hand was close and I debated with myself if I wanted to chance waking him by playing, but my hand went lower as if with its own mind. My fingers touched him, it was lying across to the side. My touch was gentle, nearly only grazing the surface of him. I felt it grow, move, turn as if it was alive, as if it were some kind of snake I was charming with my touch. I told myself to do it. I ducked under the covers, wanting to keep him warm, to delay his awakening for a while, yet. I slid down along his body and to the side further for a better angle and in the dim light sneaking in from the edges of the covering, I gazed at my goal, my interest, his cock. I placed several fingers over it and tenderly grasped it enough to move it to pointing directly at me. After releasing it, I watched as I felt it move in my fingers. I completely removed my fingers and leaned in closer, breathing on it, performing an experiment of sorts on his u*********s reaction to various stimulation. I kissed the head and saw it move slightly; I put out my tongue and licked the hole and saw the same reaction; I breathed on it, my lips mere fractions of an inch from it, and it grew, moved, twisted as blood began pumping into it.

I moved further away and listened intently, my hand on his bare stomach, listening and feeling his rhythm. Yes, I was convinced he was still asleep. The small movements I was enticing from him were subconscious, his body reacting independent of his mind. I smiled. I was enjoying this, the subtlety, the delicacy, the intimacy. I knew hard cocks. I knew the power men derived from using them. This was a new way of experiencing what they could be when they weren’t used as a weapon, used to control and dominate, but instead, a part of a union in love and sharing. I watched as it slowly retreated from growing, saw how it again moved, twisted, and turned in its retreat. I breath on it again, flicked the top with my tongue and watched it all over again. I was fascinated by this simple thing, this intricate reaction to my delicate action. No longer was a soft cock something that my mouth needed to harden. No longer. Now, this soft cock, this soft penis … penis or cock, did it matter, really? It was neither, it was Mitch … could simply be enjoyed.

I moved in closer for good, this time. I placed my head softly on his abdomen and opened my lips to take the head just inside and sucked several times. I felt it begin to grow, again, but more deliberately this time, faster by the prolonged and aggressive touch and action. I opened my mouth slightly, very slightly, but enough for it to grow into it. I simply lay there, not moving my head, but moving my lips, my tongue, and sucking on it. It continued to grow and soon I had a mouth full of him, enough so that I pulled back slightly to allow for more of him to grow. And, he did. And, I continued my soft and gentle action on him.

I saw more light, I felt the covers shifting, and then I felt his hand on my head, a moan come from him and his hips flex barely off the bed. But, I didn’t stop, didn’t change my actions, and didn’t increase or decrease my efforts.

“My god, Cat … oh my god … this is wonderful … you are so good …” He chuckled and stroked my hair, which was continuing to grow long. Mitch likes long hair. Those men kept it short so it wouldn’t get in the way of the cameras. I wanted long hair, too. “Is this going to … mmmmm … to be the new … way to wake up?”

“Nuphmm lekennphm.”

He laughed, “My dear, didn’t your mother tell … ooooooo … tell you not to talk with your mouth full?”

I pull off and bit down on him, very softly but he still felt my teeth, “Should I come up to talk or …”

“Sorry, stay right there, please. I love this. I love you.”

My mouth stopped. I felt him flex inside my mouth and stiffen a little more. Yes, we wrote those words to each other, but they have been missing from our mouths. Hearing the words were reinforcing, strengthening, and a gave me a kind of anchor in our relationship. Now, I went after him with new vigor and interest, intent on making him cum, to taste him early in the day. I did. He did. We did. His hips rose off the bed, making me rise with him to keep him in my mouth, he twitched, jerked, and strained. When he spurted into my mouth, I gulped, expecting and receiving more, many more such spurts of his seed. Each one I gulped and swallowed. At the end, I sucked on the head, running my thumb and forefinger along the length to squeeze out the last drop and taking it in, too.

Later in the morning found us in the garage building, more specifically in the hidden room in back. Part of my abbreviated, compressed weapons training was the constant need to care for the weapons. Since I was the only one who fired my weapon during last night’s escapade, I was the only one that needed to break it down, clean, and reassemble. It wasn’t as if I had that much experience but I had to do the same thing each time I practiced so, with Mitch nearby, I managed just fine. In fact, I was so focused on that task that I didn’t really notice what he was pulling out of the backpack we returned with at the other workbench. When I was completed, I filled the magazine that had been in the pistol, inserted it, and put it on safety. I inserted the pistol in the thigh mount holster and hung it back onto the wall.

When I turned to Mitch, I see he has spread out some things from the backpack that now laid empty. I saw another pistol that looked a little bigger, one I hadn’t noticed before, and a box of bullets. Then I saw a stack of official looking paper, like certificates, and several more sheets of paper to the side of them.

I come closer and look from alongside him. He said the pistol was a 45 caliber, not really too special except that it would be more powerful in stopping a charging bear or wolf, if we encountered one in the forest. He had generally been lax on carrying protection in such an event but seeing it in the safe caused him to reconsider. So, he took it. The official looking papers were bonds. I asked about them.

“Remember how I said I made money on missions when it was just ‘available’ at the end of a successful mission? It was just like this. These are bonds that the guy converted to from cash or he was given instead of dealing in cash. It’s not really that uncommon. Cash can disappear or possibly be traced. Bonds are harder. For one thing they have to be signed over to be worth anything.”

I turned one over and saw all the signature spaces were still blank. I just looked up at him.

“That’s what these other sheets are for.” He moved one over to me, it contained the signature. I just nodded. “Yeah, I needed a model for forging the signature, then they can be converted for value into an account.”

“Isn’t that close to stealing? Or, is this like Robin Hood?”

He laughs. “Definitely not like Robin Hood. He gave to the poor. So, maybe it is a little like stealing since I keep it. But, Cat, the government would otherwise just confis**te it and dump it into some agency account somewhere and be lost. I consider it a collateral reward for the risk I accept.”

I smile at him and hug him from the side. “I am not arguing, just understanding.”

“Good, because this is going into your account.”

I look at him in shock. I don’t have an account. “What account?”

“The account we have to create. I am going to recommend you use the same firm I use, but it is really up to you. I want you to have your own fallback money, just in case. I am not anticipating anything, Cat, but my life hasn’t been without angering certain people around the world.” Of course I’ll use the same firm. He assures me that at some point in the future, that account would be created. He assured me, like there might be some reason why I might question him. Like there might be some reason why I suddenly would feel the need to have separate funds available to me that was independent of him. How absurd could that be. Having been with him, growing with his encouragement, evolving into a stronger, more independent woman, how could I even doubt that about him?

We went into the house for an early lunch before our next chore, cutting fire wood on the mountain slopes above the house. Entering the kitchen I see the light blinking on the Sat-phone. I point to it for Mitch’s benefit. He punches in his code and listens, then punches in a series of numbers, pushes ‘Hands free’ and sets it on the kitchen table. I can hear it ringing on the other end, then it clicks in as it is picked up and another series of clicks. Mitch has been explaining more about these mysteries to me, warning me that I should never let it be known that he has shared. The last series of clicks is the encryption system, which secures the conversation.

“Ola, my friend.”

Mitch is shaking his head at the sound of Hansen’s voice. “Ola? Hansen, have you ever been to Brazil?”

“Well, no, but I want to. Besides, if U2 can use it in one of their songs, why can’t I use it? Ireland has nothing to do with Brazil, either.”

“Okay, Ola, Hansen.”

Hansen laughed. “You have this on speaker, I can tell. Is your beautiful partner there with you?”

“Ola, Hansen.” Mitch shook his head, again. He remembered the last time, just last night, when our playfulness turned against him.

“An angel, I swear. Someday we’ll have more time.”

I laugh and hug Mitch, “I think Mitch is already regretting the thought.” That brought a laugh from Hansen.

Mitch interrupted, “That’s not why you called.”

“See what he is like, Cat. He never relaxes.”

I have Mitch in my arms from behind, my hands moving on his body, and I kiss his neck. “Oh, no, he definitely relaxes. Maybe it’s your approach, he relaxes for me just fine.”

A long silence … “I was wondering if the boys up there ever contacted you.” Mitch and I looked at each other and chuckled at the sudden change in topic. Mitch went over the discussion last night and commented on his art work on the garage door that I never saw. Apparently, its existence proved to the local cops that the local Hispanic gang was responsible despite the declarations of the men found inside. Mitch promised we’d get together sometime under better circumstances.

With fall already started, and my first winter coming after that, we took horses into the forest to cut down dead trees and trim them for fire wood. The plan is to cut them down, trim them, then drag them out to be cut into sections lengths for the stove and split. Once inside the forest and out of the breeze, it quickly gets warm. We are both in jeans, flannel shirts, and cowboy boots. Mitch has outfitted me in several different styles of boots depending on the situation. Hiking boots, work boots for around the barn, yard, and using the tractor or ATV, and cowboy boots that are nearly a must when riding horses. We are about twenty feet apart, working on opposite ends of a tree he just felled. I look up and see Mitch stripping off his shirt; I like watching his muscles in action, even just taking his shirt off.

“You guys are so lucky to be able to just take off your shirts.”

He doesn’t even look back at me, “Just do it.”

“What?”

“Do it, Cat. Who is going to see you? Except me, but you’re not going to say that’s a problem are you?” I can see his demeanor change as he looks at me, “Besides, you look great, who wouldn’t want to look at you.”

I take off my shirt and continue working in my bra. It is amazingly freeing … and sensual at the same time. He is using the gas chainsaw while I am using an axe to cut off the smaller branches. Later, he comes back to cut off the larger branches. I catch him watching me when I don’t hear the saw angrily chewing through wood.

“We have work to do, mister.” The comment is light and teasing. I am trying to paint a picture of what he is seeing, but I am failing miserably. I guess I am not much of a painter when it comes to seeing myself. But, I do have something of an image: half naked, my back shiny with perspiration (we don’t sweat, we perspire), the muscles I do have flexing as I swing the axe overhead, lopping off the smaller branches, and (probably the part he likes) my breasts swaying with each swing. But, it feels nice to me, the freedom of movement, the knowledge that Mitch has stopped to watch me, and the sensual feeling that gives me as a result.

“I can’t help it, Cat. What a sexy sight! A fine looking woman in tight fitting jeans, cowboy boots, and bra. And, if that isn’t enough, wearing work gloves and swinging an axe. Damn!” My image confirmed. Maybe I can paint … at least in my head.

What could I do but smile. Was that a compliment, or what? I smile at him, turn back to my work, but playfully call over my shoulder, “We have work to do.”

He got a playful tone in his voice, too. “Maybe it’s time for a break.”

I smile to myself before looking over my shoulder, “Maybe when the chainsaw runs out of gas.” I was having to work hard at just teasing him, I wanted to stop as much as he sounded like he did. God, I wanted this man now. But, it seemed I nearly always wanted him. It was an amazing thing for me to discover that indulgence in sex would become so enjoyable, so intensely enjoyable. And, that the enjoyment came not from being stimulated myself, as much as the stimulation of sharing with each other, often through subtlety.

We were fifty feet apart, working on different trees when I heard the chainsaw sputter … then stop. I held the axe in my hands, my back to him and waited. The sun was still high overhead, I was breathing hard from the excursion, and I know I was sweaty. I admit it, I was past the ‘perspire’ label, I was full on sweaty. But even that felt good to me, felt right to me. Part of it might be that this is a ranch and we were just two people to work it. I felt like I was a part, a necessary, worthwhile part. As I stood there, my lungs filling with the thin mountain air of the altitude, beads of sweat ran down under my bra and between my breasts. Yes, oddly, it felt good.

I heard him pulled the starter rope repeatedly, but it failed to restart, it truly was empty. I stood for a moment, how should I handle this. I could feel him watching me. Probably wondering if I had been serious before, or would I even remember. But, I was stopped, that must have given him reason to think I was deciding something. And, I was deciding. Should I just turn around and wait for him to make the move, first? What would really please him? I was to the side of him, but down the slope some. He was above me slightly as he watched me, waited for me, anticipating my decision, my move. I looked straight ahead of me, over the forest to the lake below, the mountains on the other side, the blue in the lake water that was rippling from the gentle breeze, and the even bluer sky above. It was stunning, more beautiful than beautiful. The view, Mitch behind me, and my own feelings filled me to bursting. I knew what would really, really please him, it was plain to me, as plain as the view in front of me. For me to make the move. If we felt we understood something of each other before, each day brought that understanding increasingly clear. We both knew that he was dominant and controlling in his interactions with others. We both knew that I was submissive and yielding in mine. But, I understood, clearly understood, that he wanted me to be able to take more control, more determination in our relationship. If he were to take his natural controlling approach, I suspected that he feared that sooner or later I might look at our relationship as just another existence of control by another man. So, I knew what would please him the most.

I leaned the axe against the tree trunk I had been cleaning, removed my gloves and dropped them next to the axe, reached behind my back and unhooked my bra. I removed my arms from the straps, and holding it in place against my front, I turned to face him. It had the desired effect; I saw him standing and watching, still holding the chainsaw, his eyes glued to me. I let the bra drop and demurely smiled. If he felt watching me before was a ‘what could be finer’ type moment, seeing that I could have this effect on him, stopped in his tracks … was mine.

I took a few steps towards him, he put the chainsaw down carefully and moved a few steps towards me. I stopped, looked down at myself, past my naked breasts, my nipples already hard and wanting, to my jeans and boots. I smiled; yes, do it, show him your desire for him. I moved my hands to my breasts, squeezed them, felt my nipples, pulled them lightly, and looked directly at him. He stopped, twenty feet from me, he stopped and watched, again anticipating that I was giving more.

I looked at him, not smiling, not anything. Except I was biting my lower lip, I was nervous, anxious, I was hotter for him than I had ever been. God, that must be hot! But, that’s the feeling I had, needing, desiring, wanting, but also an element of controlling the situation. He was stopped, mesmerized even. Internally, I smiled. He wanted me to take some control, to lead us in action sometimes, the effect seemed to turn him on as much as it did me. He face was soft, his eyes completely on me, his body … god, his body! My right foot went behind my left and I pried the boot loose and kicked it off. I tried the same in reverse but had to lift my right foot to remove that boot. I unbuckled my belt, unsnapped my jeans, and pushed jeans and panties down at the same time. I stood before him in my socks. No! I lifted each foot and pulled them off, tossing them over my shoulder. I stood before him, separated by twenty feet of forest clearing. That body … is it wrong that a woman is jealous of a man’s body? Okay, I don’t want his body, but it looks soooooo good on him. His chest is wide, like slabs of beef, his back is wider and when he uses it to pull, it expands like a fan. Six-pack? This man has a six-pack.

How weird is this? I am standing before him naked, wanting to attack him and I am standing here admiring his body. I carefully cross the twenty feet, careful of the burrs and sticks hidden in the grass. As I approach him, his arms are hanging at his side, his eyes on me, completely focused on me. I see his hands making movements to rise but he is keeping them down. He sees me making the moves, controlling the situation and he seems intent on letting me. I smile up at him as my naked breasts come into contact with his body. I put my arms up to his neck and he can’t contain his arms any longer, they rise and take me, lifting me off the ground. We kiss … we kiss.

I break the kiss and hug him hard and tight, my face in his neck and shoulder, my lips kissing him there, my eyes shut, squeezing him tightly, feeling his naked front against my naked body. I open my eyes and gaze at the setting, the horses tied by long leads to nearby trees, Blackie roaming the area, the mountains reaching high above. I see a shadow pass and look up, a smile of peace and wonder crossing my face. I am naked, in the arms of this wonderful man, surrounded by all this majestic beauty, and high overhead is a circling eagle. I lean back to see it better, “Mitch, look. A bald eagle. This is perfect, absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

He chuckled, “Now, what are you thanking me for? The eagle? I had nothing to do with the eagle, the warmth of the day, or the mountains around us.”

“Maybe not directly, but you had everything to do with my being here to enjoy it.” I kiss him, again, looking into his eyes and my face transforms completely in a smile that spreads from my mouth and eyes and across my entire face. “But, you had everything to do with my being able to share it with you.”

I unwrap my legs from around his waist and he lets me down to the ground. I am kissing his chest, spending time on his nipples, pulling back to look closely at the burn marks around his. What a strange thing for us to have in common. All the while, though, my hands are working at the buckle to his belt, the snap on his jeans, and the zipper. I lower down his body, kissing his stomach. That wonderful six-pack; does he have any body-fat? I kiss each distinctive muscle showing on his stomach and look up at him from below, “Can you train me, Mitch? Can I develop these, too?”

“You’re really going to stay with me, then? You aren’t having second thoughts about this life? About my violent past, the simplicity of my life now, the hard work?”

I straighten up, running my hands on his chest to his shoulders, down his arms to his hands, which I take into mine and lift them to my breasts, pressing them against my nipples. “I’m here for as long as you want me.”

“Then you’ll be with me forever.”

I press the side of my face to his chest, tears begin leaking from my eyes and wet my cheeks and his chest. I sink down before he notices … a silly woman’s emotions getting the better of her, again.

I push him against the felled tree for him to sit as I straddle his leg, my back to him as I pull up his foot and pull at his boot. I get the right one off and straddle the left one, pulling it, struggling more this time, shifting my feet for better leverage, knowing I am point my butt right at him, but soon I will have him naked, too.

I hear him mutter, “The moon shining bright in daylight.”

I glance up, just reflex I suppose. There is no moon, then … I glance and smile. I wiggle my butt at him, “A full moon.” We both laugh and at that moment his other boot comes off. I pull off his jeans and underwear at the same time. I was ready to suck him to get him hard, I was gladly ready to do it. And, I still could just because I enjoy him on my tongue and in my mouth, but he was already hard and I wanted him inside me.

I point down to the ground and he moves off the tree, lying on his back. “You have a plan, my dear?”

“You want me to be your cowgirl, that’s what you’re getting, stud.” He smiles up at me but his eyes travel from my face to between my legs as I step over his body and lower myself over his mid-section. I take his cock in my hand, point it up and move my already wet and ready pussy over the top. I move on it just enough for it to be just inside me. I look up at his face, neither of us has a smile, only intense anticipation. Anticipation that I let hang in the thin mountain air for another moment or two as I move slightly, but not taking him further into me. Then, suddenly, without warning, I push back onto him and take him nearly all the way into me. His mouth opens and he sighs, just as mine does.

We are both urgent in our fucking. Even though I am in the dominant position this time and his motion is restricted, he is flexing and thrusting with the limited effect he has available to him in this position. For my part, I am rising and falling with long strokes. Long because I can; long because he is. In the end, our climaxes are nearly upon each other, one undoubtedly the result of the other. My back is arched and my pelvis is pressed against his. When I am past the most intense part of my orgasm, I drop down onto his chest and kiss him, kiss him anywhere my mouth touches.

Afterwards, and while still joined, Blackie surprises both of us by licking my leaking pussy, also contacting his softening cock. I had forgotten about him, but he has never approached us before, but we have never been with him like this before, I realize. My reaction is immediate, “Blackie! OH MY GOD!” I moan, my mouth dropping open, then remember that Mitch is here, too. I look down at him and see his eyes on me. This isn’t just me and a dog, not like when I was a slave and didn’t have a choice. This is different and I see it in Mitch’s eyes, too. Then I hear him moan and gasp … and … my god, he’s lengthening inside me! Blackie is still licking at us. I am moaning and Mitch is now hard and moving in me. As I moan out my reaction to the insistent tongue, I search Mitch’s eyes for an indication from him, a smile forms across his face.

“This doesn’t disgust you, then?” He doesn’t even answer me, he pulls me to him and rolls us over, breaking Blackie’s contact, and is now in position to fuck me missionary. Which he does. The intensity that comes from him in this second fuck is tremendous, not viscous or brutal or abusive in any way. He is still kissing me, he whispers in my ear his love, but his cock is driving into me, as though even he can’t believe he is already hard and fucking so soon after just cumming. And because he did so recently climax, he lasts deliciously long this time. Outside, as the air cools with the late afternoon sun lowering, our intensity never allows us to notice the change. He moves me through several position changes until he finally announces his climax after getting me into the doggy position. How appropriate. It was a dog, Blackie, that stimulated us for this encore performance.

We don’t even mention, much less discuss, the contact with Blackie on the mountainside that day. Not for several weeks, anyway. It is on my mind, sometimes it seems it is constantly on my mind, itching at me to scratch it. But, I don’t dare. Mitch’s reaction on the slope that day was positive, but it was in the heat of passion. What would his reaction be under calmer, cooler, and less emotional conditions. But, it isn’t forgotten. I think about it, I look at Blackie differently after that, and I catch Mitch watching when I interact, especially playfully, with the dog. His interest doesn’t seem troubled or tense. In fact, it seems curious.

* * CHAPTER SIX will follow * * Thanks for reading.