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When I was back in my room after my visit to Rosa’s, I sat down at the small table and updated my journal. I tried to write something in the ledger every night. There was something about carefully and laboriously scratching my thoughts in the journal that helped me relax. Also, writing out my thoughts seemed to bring them into focus somehow. After meeting Feleena formally tonight, all the questions I had, came bubbling back up again. Too bad writing didn’t give me the answers.
After sitting there stewing for a few minutes, I decided once again that my best course of action would be to keep myself alive and enjoy this second chance I was given. If, while doing that, I could right a few wrongs, prevent some gross injustices and end up with the beautiful princess, all the better.
The next morning when I cruised into the kitchen to see if Molly had saved me some breakfast, I was feeling pretty chipper about my prospects. I was beginning to think that changing the dynamics of meeting Feleena had to have seriously derailed the march of events that led to my Uncle Ty Ringo’s untimely demise. Now all I had to do was make sure things stayed changed. To that end, there would not be many more visits to Rosa’s Cantina in my future.
Molly did have me some chow warming on top of the stove in the form of a couple of thick slices of ham and a half dozen biscuits. Molly also looked extra fine that morning, so I waltzed up to her and gave her a good morning kiss right on her little bee-stung Irish lips. Before Molly could react, I stepped back and gave her a boyish grin.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” I said cheerily.
Molly was blushing when she returned the greeting, and told me to sit down. She bustled around the kitchen, fixing me a plate. She set the plate of biscuits and ham on the table and plunked down a cup of coffee, before sitting down herself.
We chatted while I ate, and continued while we sipped our coffee. I could tell Molly was excited about the idea of helping me with my office. The prospect of actually going into a saloon also intrigued her. Molly’s older husband had been very conservative, and as a proper Victorian-Era wife, Molly had never seen the inside of a saloon.
We left Molly’s boarding house, and I proudly let her take my arm as we walked over to the Bull. Molly was wearing a very nice simple dress, unadorned, without hoops or a bustle. She had a wide brimmed straw hat perched on her swept up hair, and she carried a parasol to keep the intense sun off what little of her fair skin was showing.
We reached the saloon, and I led a suddenly reticent Molly inside.
“Relax, Molly, I’m not leading you into a den of iniquity. Not much goes on here in the mornings.”
She nodded and blushed again as we walked through the door. Miguel and his wife were busily cleaning tables and sweeping the floor. I greeted them in Spanish and introduced Molly to them, before taking her to my new office.
Molly was in her element as she helped me arrange the furniture and catalogued what I needed to set up shop. On her own, she went out and borrowed some of Miguel’s cleaning supplies. We set to work and before you could say Jack Sprat, the office was spic and span. With the street-facing window clean, the room looked bright and airy. All it needed was some decorations to complete it.
From the saloon, I took Molly over to Pritchett’s Mercantile, so she could see what he had in the line of accessories for my office. Turns out he had quite a few things she thought I’d need. Pritchett’s mercantile was well stocked, as the arrival of the railroad meant even luxury items from back east were available. Molly picked up some heavy brocade fabric for curtains and to cover my drop-leaf table, and a few knick-knacks to make the office less austere. We even bought me a fancy desk set with a green felt blotter, pen and ink well. My wallet was ten dollars lighter when we left Mr. Pritchett.
Our next stop was at the shop of a cabinet and furniture maker that Molly had done business with before. Molly haggled a very good price out of the man for making me a sign to post out on the wall outside the saloon. It would read “Tyler R. McGuinn, Attorney at Law” in both English and Spanish. I resisted the urge to add the ubiquitous twentieth century “Se Habla Español” to the sign. The Mexican craftsman promised my sign would be ready in a few days.
We carried our loot back to El Toro, and once again, Molly worked her magic. A doily here, a little carving there, and voila, a warm and inviting office appeared. Molly took a small cloth measuring tape out of her drawstring purse and measured the windows and table. She was going to sew my curtains and table drape herself. Molly was all smiles when I told her how happy and proud I was with the results.
I took Molly to the El Paso Café for lunch, before we headed back to the boarding house. I have to tell you that Molly was a wonderful person to hang around. She could converse intelligently on almost any topic, and she had a sparkling personality. Her elfin good looks and delightfully slender, bubble butted body didn’t hurt her cause either.
When we arrived back at her place, Molly led me to the empty guest room next to mine, and took a sailing ship painting off the wall.
“This will go good in your office, Mr. McGuinn. It is nice and masculine, just like you,” she said.
I agreed and offered to buy the painting from her. She would hear none of that.
“It is a gift, Tyler, to bring you good luck in your endeavors.”
Then she gave me an impish smile.
“Besides, I need to move it anyway, so you and your guests will stop knocking it off the wall.”
I could only think of one way to thank her, so I stepped forward, swept her up in my arms until her feet were off the ground, and laid one on her. Molly squealed in surprise when I picked her up, but in less than a second, her strong slender arms wrapped around my neck and she was kissing me back. When we finally came up for air, I sat her gently back on her feet. She leaned back and looked at me. Her big green eyes, smoky with passion, erased any doubts about where this was going to end. I picked her up and carried her to the bed, her arms still locked around my neck.
You don’t have to be Einstein to figure out the first thing I did was unpin her hair and spread it out in a reddish copper halo on the white silk damask pillow slip. Her tresses, besides being that incredible color, were thick and smelled of the sweetest jasmine.
It didn’t take me long to unbutton and remove her dress, and she was cooperative enough when I pulled off her voluminous bloomers. The problem started when I tried to get her out of her long white chemise. It was almost comical, the way she held the shoulder strap I was trying to push down her arm while trying to pull me on top of her at the same time. She was even more body shy than Liz. I stopped what I was doing and propped myself on my elbow beside her.
“I want to see you, Molly. I want to kiss every inch of you.”
She shivered a little when I said that, and hesitantly moved her hand off mine. It was sort of sad, the way Anglo Victorian women were kept so sexually repressed. But hey, it was great for me, in that I had the pleasure of introducing some of them to sloppy, hot weasel sex.
Molly kept her eyes tightly closed, her face and chest red with embarrassment as I rapturously gazed down on her small form. Her breasts were the size of small oranges, but stood proudly on her chest. Her nipples were puffy pink pebbles, protruding proudly from her alabaster cones. The dusting of freckles sprinkled across her chest, combined with her sparse and wispy, coppery colored pubic hair, made her look as if she were a teenage girl.
Her response was anything but juvenile, though, when I slurped one of her puffy little nipples into my mouth. The hand that Molly had been holding tightly clenched to her side, shot up and tangled into my hair, as she smashed my face against her little breast. She wasn’t rough enough yet to be causing me pain, in fact, her little whimpers of delight made me feel terrific. I opened my mouth wider and sucked her entire petite orb into my mouth, still lashing her nipple with my tongue. Miss Molly might not have had much in the breast department, but what she had was sure sensitive. She groaned softly as a small orgasm shot through her body, her grip on my hair tightening slightly.
I released Molly’s breast and played connect the dots with my tongue and her freckles, until I was kissing her pouty little lips again. She kissed me back with enthusiasm, her one hand still clutching my hair. I broke the kiss and raised my head. Her eyes finally opened, and she looked up at me with a slightly puzzled look.
“If you liked that, Molly, you’re going to love the next few minutes, but you need to lay there and enjoy it and not try to stop me, okay?”
Mara
- 08.05.2020
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