Space NutChapter 4
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By the time I locked the door of my room behind me, Liz was suddenly feeling shy again. Oh, she still wanted to do more of what we were doing, she just would have been happier if we were doing it in the dark. I persisted though, and finally managed to get her out of her clothes. Let me make it clear right now, it was well worth the effort. I don’t care what century’s standards you measured her body against - it was extraordinary. Except for her breasts, all of the views I’d had of it till now were covered with layers and layers of clothes. Now I was getting to see it up close and personal, as she stood blushing in front of me, trying to cover her naughty bits.
“Move your hands, Elizabeth, you are incredibly beautiful and I want to see you,” I said softly.
She blushed redder and she fidgeted, but she dropped her hands to her sides.
“I’m not beautiful,” she argued, “I’m too big on top and too small on the bottom. I wouldn’t even be able to work if it weren’t for my padded girdle.”
Liz did have slim hips and a small, high, firm butt. She looked bigger when she was dressed, I guess the padded girdle added a few inches to her hips, and the bustles on the dresses took care of the rest. But still, I’ve been married four times, and I’ve dated plenty of women in between wives, yet I’ve never once had one tell me that her ‘ass was too small and her boobs too big’. In the world I came from, that just didn’t happen. It was as unusual as a guy complaining about his Johnson being too big. Well, I could complain about that, but modesty prevents me.
“Your body is perfect, Honey. Fashion be danged. And I’m about to show you how much I appreciate it.”
“You are the only man who has ever seen it, Ty, and when you get undressed, you’ll be the first man I’ve ever seen nude,” she said shyly.
Lucky me! I shed my clothes as if they were on fire. When I was down to my birthday suit, my not particularly big Johnson was leading the way by seven inches or so. Liz was looking me up and down, as it was my turn to stand with my hands at my sides. While she checked me out, I had a question for her.
“How could you have been married for six months without seeing each other naked?”
She never raised her eyes from little Ty as she answered.
“We had separate dressing rooms and wore our night clothes to bed. I was curious, of course, but Charles was older and very conservative. We wore nightclothes to bed and he took me in the dark. Everything you’ve done so far is a first for me.”
I liked that, and it was motivational too. If I was going to be first, I wanted everything I did to be the standard any other men were compared against. With that in mind, I laid her in the center of the bed and had at it. I paid homage to every inch of her pale smooth body, before I centered my attention on her little chestnut colored bush. She tried to push my head away in alarm, until I flicked my tongue across her clit. That little maneuver ended any thought of resistance, as she fell back on the bed with a gasp.
Liz couldn’t believe it wasn’t a fluke when I brought her to a crashing orgasm with my tongue, so after a little rest, I gladly gave her a repeat performance. I left her to catch her breath after her second long and loud climax, as I retrieved the small parcel from my dresser drawer and pulled out one of Mr. Goodyear’s Latex Rubber Protective Sheaths. Charles Goodyear had been making the sheaths for ten years, but because of the Comstock Act of 1873, it was illegal to sell condoms in the United States. Luckily, good old Clem at the barbershop had a supply he kept replenished from across the river.
Image this: the condoms were made in Ohio and then sent to Europe. From Europe they traveled to Mexico and then to Texas. I was protected by a piece of rubber that already had over ten thousand miles on it, hoping it would last another hundred feet, six inches at a time.
The rubber wasn’t neatly rolled like they were in my other time, so it took some effort to get it on correctly. Liz watched me big-eyed as I slipped it on. I figured she couldn’t help knowing what it was, what with working in the saloon with the professional girls.
I went slow and gentle getting into her tight little cleft, but it wasn’t that difficult, as she was drenched down there. It was almost anticlimactic as I slipped in the last little bit and our hips ground together. All through the exercise, Liz looked at where we joined in awe, I think because it was happening with pleasure instead of the pain she remembered. I told Liz that I was too needy to last long this first time. She replied that it was feeling pretty good to her already.
I lasted longer than I thought I would, thanks to the sensation deadening rubber, so Liz was close when I unloaded. I kept stroking after I came, and stayed hard enough to bring her to another climax. We were two very happy campers snuggled up on my bed after I disposed of the rubber. Liz laid her head on my chest and threw her leg over mine, all of her earlier modesty forgotten in post-coital bliss.
“That was so wonderful, Ty, I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.”
Here was a woman who knew how to make a man feel good.
“The pleasure was at least half mine, Elizabeth, and the afternoon isn’t over yet.”
I swear Liz’s big green eyes lit up when I said the afternoon wasn’t over. She pulled herself tighter against me and kissed my chest.
“Goody!” she said emphatically.
Goody was right on the money. When I recovered (when you are twenty years old it doesn’t take long), I gave Liz a run through of different positions. She liked being on top a lot. She perched herself on me and posted up and down on my rod in the same way she rode her horse. I played with her breasts and occasionally rubbed her clit. I especially liked doing her doggie style, because her cute little ass fit my hands perfectly.
When we were both sated, we cleaned up as best we could with my ewer of water and basin. As we were washing up, I decided I would invent at least one thing in this life and that was a shower.
I invited Liz to have supper with me again, but she said she wasn’t dressed for it. So I ended up walking her back to her rooming house. As we walked, Liz held tightly to my arm and chatted away. She told me how good I had made her feel, and how she couldn’t wait for us to be together again. I seconded that emotion.
I still felt very good that night when I walked into the El Toro Cantina. I imagine everyone in the place knew what was causing me to smile. I felt even better when Mr. Bemis strolled into the saloon while I was sitting at a table watching the gambling action. I had not tried to get into the game yet, because I was unable to focus. All I could think about was Liz and me rolling around on my bed. Bemis was a welcomed distraction. He was even welcomer when he handed me twenty-five dollars, my remaining pay from the cattle drive. He looked me up and down, but didn’t comment on my wardrobe.
“I did real good, selling the cattle, Ty, so I gave everyone a little bonus. We’ll be leaving for the ranch, day after tomorrow, so come back to the camp tomorrow night.”
I told Bemis I was retiring from the cowboy business and wouldn’t be joining him on the ride back to his ranch. To his credit, he tried to talk me out of doing something he knew was wrong for the old Ty Ringo. When I stuck to my position, he sighed and stood up.
“We’ll be back with another herd in four months. If you are still alive, you can see me about a job.”
I stood up also and shook his hand.
“I know what you’re thinking, Boss, but almost dying changed me. Next time you’re in town, look me up and I’ll buy you a drink.”
Bemis didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything as he turned around and walked out of the saloon.
I finally did sit in on Pen’s card game. As I knew they would, distracting thoughts of Liz kept me from being as sharp as I needed to be. I lost eight dollars by the time I called it quits.
I was on my way out of the El Toro, when I heard some scuffling and a loud noise that sounded like a hard slap. I turned into the dancehall portion of Pen’s saloon, just in time to see a man pull a knife out of a belt scabbard. I looked for the bartender whose job it was to keep the peace; he was nowhere in sight. Sighing, I pulled my pistol and cocked the hammer.
“Drop the knife,” I ordered in as firm a voice as I could muster.
The man with the knife turned toward me and sneered. Jesus, he was ugly, with his long greasy hair, matted gray beard and snaggle-toothed mouth.
“Stay out of this, fancy-pants, unless you want to be next. This half-breed bitch slapped me, so I’m going to mark her up.”
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