Sixth Generation Cowboy And A Third Generation WhoreChapter 6: Lawyers, Guns, And Money free porn video

0504 Hours (5:04 AM) Mountain Standard Time, Tuesday 17 April 2012

Downtown Denver, Colorado

Waking up next to a pretty woman should be a pleasure; I have usually found it so. The mattress of the California King Bed in this hotel suite is too soft in my opinion. None-the-less, I believe I slept better than I had in years. Admittedly, too often over the last few years, even having a bed was a luxury. When I did enjoy having a bed, they were often cheap, and poorly constructed. During that span of time, the few women I had sex with, either they, or more frequently, I had departed in less than an hour.

Glancing at the clock, I noted it was a few minutes after five. I felt fully rested. Not all that surprising, because back at Quantico, on the East Coast, it was 0712 Hours. Loni and I had gone to sleep not long after 2200 Hours (Ten PM); after hitting the head and taking a shower together. Sated for the moment, although we indulged in some sensual caressing while getting clean, both of us were fatigued; we were still basking in post coital satisfaction. I thought I sensed trepidation from Loni too, as we climbed into bed together.

I had considered driving back to Nederland, and the room I had paid for in the Nederhaus Lodge. It would have been foolish to drive tired, and after consuming enough alcohol that I might fail a field sobriety test. Not to mention having to drive back in to downtown Denver in the morning. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I fancied that Loni didn’t want to be alone. For once, I didn’t want to be alone either. Back at Quantico, I sometimes have nightmares. My last night in the BEQ, I disciplined myself to get as much sleep as possible to prepare for travel, and dealing with the passing of my Grandfather.

My mind was spinning like a hamster wheel as I considered all of the tasks involved with the passing of my Grandfather, restoring the ranch, and my future with the United States Marine Corps. I was overwhelmed. Frustrating, because I am capable of organizing and executing complex training evolutions, combat operations, and the associated logistics. I was considering getting up and using my laptop to prepare a series of checklists and a master schedule; when I felt Loni turning towards me. While I was woolgathering, she had awoken, I turned to face Loni; her sapphire blue eyes pierced my soul, leaving me speechless.

Grinning at me, she said softly, “Good morning sleepyhead. I hope you slept well.”

I paused for a moment, before admitting, “Yeah, actually I slept amazingly well. How about you?”

Loni flushed, glanced away, then said quietly, “I guess you wore me out so much my demons couldn’t disturb me. I hate D.C.”

“I know what you mean. I hate the traffic, the rest of the Rat Race. Everything is so expensive. Mostly, I stay on base,” I said.

She shrugged, then stated, “That too. I guess. I mean the Damn Bureaucrats! Cronies, fixers, lobbyists, politicians, staffers, sycophants, and all the other Blood Suckers! I Loathe The Swamp and All the Scum that Enjoy the Cesspool...”

Loni got really spun up before she wound down. She was no longer looking at me, but someplace far away. I couldn’t think of anything beneficial to say. I didn’t think that being snarky would be appropriate. I was at a loss. Although I know Loni in the “Biblical sense” I didn’t really know her. Perhaps, just like me, there was no one alive who really knew her. I was reaching out to her, when she began eagerly crawling upon me. Laying there, skin to skin, was somehow refreshing. My mundane concerns were melting away, and my muscles were unclenching. I had expected our mutual vulnerabilities would cause me to withdraw; instead, I was feeling more at ease than I could remember.

We were snuggling together for I don’t know how long, when Loni muttered, “Make Me Forget, Please.”

Gazing upon her lovely face was stirring me in a manner I couldn’t define. Her eyes were tightly closed, and a few tears trickled from the corners. Her vulnerability caused me to pause; my hardening cock had no such scruples. I could feel her body responding, she was writhing against me, her skin flushing with arousal. I could feel her building heat. Her pink nipples were stiffening, and her breathing was getting deeper. Converting my comforting caresses into sensual stroking to stoke her passion had an immediate effect. Loni spread her legs, welcoming me into her core.

Her lips were moving, but no words were emerging. Teasingly, I brushed my lips upon hers. Fiercely, she embraced me, deepening our kiss. Passionately kissing, our tongues entwining, stoking our mutual arousal. Kissing my way down her throat, between her breasts, then alternating between her nipples left Loni gasping. Sharing her urgency, my tongue continued trailing down her body, licking her abdomen, while my hands were caressing her hips. Swiping my tongue across her labia, I could taste her need.

Undulating her hips, Loni was moaning with need. My manhood had hardened in response to her need. Guiding the head of my cock into her sweet pink folds caused Loni to shiver. Copious lubrication from her pussy immediately coated the head of my cock, and ran down my shaft. Slowly I began easing my shaft into her welcoming pussy. I intended to make love to Loni, slowly increasing our tempo. Loni had a different feeling about our carnal activities. She thrust her hips up, engulfing my cock in her clutching pussy.

Loni grinned up at me, then her mouth opened and she moaned loudly. Our tempo rapidly increased, our bodies thrusting in sync. Our breathing quickened, fortunately we are both in good shape. Perspiration glisten on both of our bodies in the soft morning light peeking through the curtains. Loni’s cheeks, throat, and her upper chest bushed pink with her passion. She cried out in passion as she peaked, cumming once, twice, thrice in rapid succession. As she surrendered to another orgasm, I too enjoyed a powerful orgasm, my cum overflowing her womb.

As we wound down, I tried to roll off her, but Loni clutched me tightly; so, I rolled over, bringing her with me. Laying on my back, Loni snuggled upon me, seeming light as a kitten. Our breathing slowed until we once again in sync. Her cheek laid upon my cheek, her breasts pressing upon my chest, her legs tucked so that she lay mostly atop my torso. Our cheeks were wet, but we, or at least I, felt wonderful; we were basking in endorphins. Contented, we dozed together for a brief time, savoring the afterglow of our passion.

Softly, Loni kissed my cheek and then said, “I want you to join me in the shower ... but if you do, I will be late for the conference. The consequences for my being late would be ... Please just be here for me again tonight.”

Looking into her misty eyes, I kissed her on the lips, then told her, “I’ll be here for you.”

She slipped away, and soon I was listening to the shower running; I was imagining what might be. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I attached my prosthesis to the stump of my left leg. I put on a robe, and prepared a cup of coffee; while it brewed, I got out my laptop computer and booted it up. Drinking my first cup of coffee of the day, my mind wandered into the bathroom, and the luxury shower. Focusing, I brought up my schedule, the only critical item was meeting with my uncle at his law firm.

Drinking my coffee, I decided I should probably use the exercise room here at the motel, rather than drive to the nearest 24 Hour Fitness. But, after reviewing the menu prices, I figured I’d go elsewhere for breakfast. I had more than four, nearly five hours before my scheduled meeting with my uncle at Wilson, Adkins, Sherman, and Perkins. There were many more things that I would have to plan for, but until I got some information from Uncle Jacob, they were “Unknown Unknowns” thus I wasn’t going to speculate in a void.

I was jotting down some notes of some things I needed to ask my Godfather about, when Loni exited the latrine, and said, “I wish I could spend the day with you ... If I don’t leave now, I will end up staying all day.”

Loni was only wearing plain beige panties and a bra, yet she still looked sexy; I engulfed her in a hug, and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be good. For now. I’ll probably be naughty when we get together this evening.

While she dressed, I prepared her a cup of coffee. She put on a crisp white blouse, and a dark navy blue suit, so dark it almost appeared to be black. Conservatively cut, with a skirt that went past her knees, but it did not obscure her femininity. Loni’s fair complexion appears stark in contrast to the suit, just a hint of makeup enhanced her “peaches & cream” skin tone. My eyes roamed her body, her slim build, toned by a physical fitness regime, and her B or possibly C-cup bust was concealed; but I observed the woman under the corporate armor.

Handing her a steaming cup of coffee, reluctantly, I allowed her to go without embracing her yet again. She smiled brightly at me, yet it seemed brittle. She waved at me, from three foot away, blinked, then rushed out the door. I stood there for another couple of minutes. I shook my head, then put on a t-shirt, running shorts, ankle socks and running shoes. Ensuring I had a keycard to the room, I took the stairs down to the gym. It was a bit before ‘Zero-Six” and I had the exercise room to myself.

It is sub-optimal to combine weight training and cardio, but I am mostly in a maintenance mode, and trying to burn off stress and other emotions. So, I started out with ten minutes of stretches, then some light cardio, ten minutes on a stair-master, then ten minutes on a treadmill at a quick jog. I am still learning to cope with my prosthetic, and I didn’t want to do anything to myself so that I couldn’t perform my duty as a pallbearer when the time came. I would rather begin pushing my boundaries while I was under the care of the experts back at Quantico.

After my warmup, I knocked out fifty pushups, then began using a weight machine; they didn’t have any free weights. Cranking out some reps, while working my triceps, a trio of MILFs entered the exercise room, clad in spandex leotards. They were in pretty good shape, for middle age women. Also, due being hyper-alert, I evaluate anyone who comes into close proximity. They were hardly subtle in the manner that they were checking me out. Gleaming with sweat, and occasionally grunting with my exertions, I apparently presented quite a show.

Blatantly discussing my appearance, while I continued working out; at least they didn’t refer to me as a “Prime Buck” perhaps because of the leg. Although they seemed much more interested in my pecs, abs, and biceps. As they edged closer to me, their noses twitched. My musk, enhanced by the essence of Loni, as I had not showered after our bouts of sex. I was enjoying the strong olfactory reminders of our mutual joy. Aromas wafting off my skin spurred the hormones of my audience; causing me to cut short my workout.

According to them, I had a future as a Chippendale’s Dancer if decided to retire from the Marines. After a moment pondering, I decided if I was not going to be a Marine, I would become a Rancher. Back in Loni’s suite, I enjoyed a luxurious shower, then considered what to wear. I had already worn my sport coat, button-down shirt, and slacks last night, and if I wore them today, what would I wear this evening. I needed to wash two sets of PT clothing, as well as my “grubbies” that I had worn while packing up my stuff, as well as family heirlooms from my grandfather’s home.

When I packed, back at Quantico, I had not anticipated needing to visit a lawyer’s office. I figured I would meet with my uncle several time, but as family, not in his professional capacity. Oh, well, I’d just have to be careful while eating breakfast. After getting into my uniform, I took an elevator to the second floor, then walked down the stairs to where my rental vehicle was parked in the garage. I drove the Ford Edge to a long time favorite location of my grandfather and me. I hoped it was still in business, because I hadn’t been there in nearly a decade.

To my pleasure, the 20th Street Café is still here, so I parked and went inside. It’s an old fashioned diner, the type that are too often disappearing; replaced by franchise restaurants, and fast food places. A slice of Americana, owned and operated by Rob and Karen Okuno, third or fourth generation Japanese-Americans. The food is great, and good sized portions too. Considering how many calories I had burned since last night, I treated myself to Rod’s Big Breakfast, with some fluffy blueberry pancakes. Unashamedly, I used a napkin as a bib, and tucked in to a delicious meal. Gourmets might turn their nose up at such pedestrian fare, but anyone with good taste would enjoy this meal as much as I did.

It’s rude to be chatting on your phone in a restaurant, or many other public places; at least in my opinion it is. So, after I finished my meal, and paid my bill, I went out to my rental vehicle to place a call. Arthur Maclaren, my Godfather is seventy two, and according to my Grandfather, rises with the sun every morning. Still, I figured it would be polite to not call until after breakfast. It was about 0730 hours, and I figured the gentleman was probably in his den-office. I had heard that he delegated most of the routine matters to others, yet still kept his fingers on the pulse of his ranch and other businesses.

Arthur picked up before the third ring, and in a firm voice said, “Morning Marcus. My condolences. Already I miss Adam, more than you may know. What may I do to assist my Godson?”

“I regret having to call you for favors—”

“Nonsense,” he said, cutting me off. “You are doing your duty, serving our country. Not only do you have to deal with your grief and other matters due to the unanticipated death of your Grandpa. I understand you have some other issues complicating matters. If I may of help, I will. If you fail to ask, I may meddle without your input. It would be better for both of us if you would suggest how I might help. I will advise you, when I believe necessary. If you think I am too pushy, let me know. However, similar to Adam, I will do as I believe required.”

I paused for a moment, before saying, “I will need you advise, and possibly some assistance. For now, I have three immediate concerns. I didn’t anticipate having to conduct professional business. I don’t have any suits that fit anymore, and I am not sure that my uniform is the proper attire.”

“You are going to the offices of Wilson, Adkins, Sherman, and Perkins, where that crafty young attorney, Mister LeBeau, whose services Adam retained for the last decade or so. Might I suggest you consider the firm I employ?” My Godfather said.

“Thank you, Sir. I will consider retaining a different law firm. However, today I am picking up some items being held by Mister Lebeau, to be turned over to me.” I said.

“Oh. Well, if you decide to return to Colorado, and reestablish the ranch. Carson, Lincoln, Adams, Shapiro and Shapiro is a more prestigious firm, even if they are not based in Denver. They are particularly suited to not just ranching, but other matters of business, land use issues, and water rights. Enough on that. You need a suit, or several, at least one today. Go to Homer Reed, they are on Tremont Place, downtown. Consider their line from Coppley. I have several suits from that label, and Adam had one or two as well. It’s not a Brooks Brothers, more suited to Men, like us. Not those limp wristed hipsters in Denver. I’ll make a call to ensure you are provided expedited service.” My Godfather said.

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that. I am considering coming back for good. I am concerned that if I am not fit enough to continue serving as a Marine, am I up to the rigors of ranching? I do believe I am fit enough to ride a horse. I would appreciate it if I could borrow one of yours? I plan to start inspecting the fence line, and other parts of the property. I suppose I will need to buy an ATV and a trailer, but I’d prefer to hold off on that. I’ve got my saddle, but I am uncertain about the tack. I’d hate to break a rein while riding.” I told him.

My Godfather said, “I am confident you could become a good rancher, you’ll need to acquire more grazing rights, to be profitable. You might consider resurrecting the bull breeding and horse breeding operations Adam had. He established a good reputation, that you could build on. Some of Adam’s friends and associates would put in a good word for you. If you are interested. Adam and I both used our contacts to keep abreast of your recovery, figuring you weren’t likely to jabber much to a couple of old men. We both love you, but I probably should apologize for being a Buttinski.”

He paused for just a moment, then continued, “I’ll have a Hand out there before ten, he can loaf until you get there.”

Before I could speak, he said, “You should call me Arthur. You are a peer now, and you’ve earned it. Just like Adam did. I miss chatting with him, even if it was only a couple of times a month. I hope you will be joining us at the V.F.W. too.”

“Yes Sir. Uh, Arthur. I am honored,” I replied.

“There is a third matter?” He asked.

I hesitated a moment, then said, “yes. Uh, Arthur, do you know Joe Pelle, the Boulder County Sheriff?”

He replied, “I do. He seems to be a decent man, for a politician. I was on his campaign committee. Why do you ask?”

I told him, “I hadn’t been on the ground more than an hour, I was eating breakfast at Ned’s. Sheriff Pelle came in, sat down at my table, and offered his condolences on the passing of Gramps. Was Gramps on his campaign committee too?”

“Nooo ... Adam was not involved with politics. The VFW is non-partisan, for the most part. That, and some veterans issues was the extent of community involvement for him. He valued his privacy. Oh, you probably don’t know, but Adam got pretty involved with the US Marine Corps Reserve, Toys for Tots program after you joined the Corps. Sheriff Pelle may be concerned with you raising a ruckus about Adam dying. From what I have learned, he should have survived his heart attack. At least the first one. He may have suffered a second heart attack while in the care of the paramedics. Seems there was an accident that resulted in significant damage to your family home.” Arthur said.

I sighed, then said, “it looks like a VBIED detonated adjacent to Gramps’ home. I don’t believe it can be repaired. My truck is wrecked too. Maybe totaled. I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t told anything about any of that when I was at Quantico.”

He said, “I didn’t know about what happened to your home when I placed my first call to a Marine Colonel, whom I have gotten to know over the last few months. Adam called me, after he called nine-one-one. He didn’t sound good, but I expected him to survive. I was worried he would want to get back to his ranch ASAP. So, I wanted to expedite your being able to get Leave. The Colonel and I figured your Sergeant Major Sosabowski could expedite matters, even without the Red Cross notification. As soon as I learned of Adam’s death, I updated him. I didn’t find out about the propane tank incident until Monday. When I called Quantico, the told me you had already landed at Buckley.”

I asked, “do you know what happened?”

“Just rumors. It is part of the reason I am recommending my law firm to you. I will make some discrete inquiries too.” He said.

I told him, “I appreciate it. I am a bit overwhelmed. I am focused on arranging the funeral of Gramps. I think he would want to be buried next to Grandma, in the family plot, on our land. I also need to decide if I have a future in the Marines.”

Arthur said, “with your permission, I’ll send some professionals out to document the evidence, and others to protect your property from damage by the elements. You let me know if there is anything else you want assistance with.”

“You should advise them to be alert, and be armed. Someone tried to force open bot Gramps’ and my gun safes, and they were scavenging through Gramps’ bedroom, and probably elsewhere in the house.” I said.

Arthur said, “You take too. Adam had mentioned to me some concerns about activities on federal land to the northwest of the ranch. There are some sketchy folks to your west, too. Adam said they were okay, and they had been right neighborly, helping him with repairing some fencing between their properties, and other chores. They are a scruff looking lot. Veterans, who turned to contracting, then gave that up too. Adam was a pretty good judge of character ... but its prudent to be cautious.”

“Thank you, Arthur, for everything. I’d better get going. I’ve an appointment at ten-thirty hours.” I said.

“Keep me in the loop,” Arthur said before disconnecting the call.

I used the GPS to locate Homer Reed Ltd. Then went to a Starbucks with a drive through, and purchased a cup of their dark roast, and a copy of the Wall Street Journal. I drove to Tremont Place, and found a place to park for a couple of hours. I read a couple of articles, and sipped my coffee. A bit before 0830 hours, I grabbed my coffee, and the Journal, and strolled over to glance in the windows of the menswear shop. There sign indicated they did not open until nine.

As I was peering in the window, the front door opened a well dressed man asked, “are you Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Randall?”

When I confirmed who I was, I was ushered in, and provided extremely effective service. Based upon my Godfather’s advice, I focused on the Coppley brand, although “off the rack” it is intended that they be custom tailored. To expedited matters, I quickly selected a light weight light grey suit and a more traditional darker pin-striped suit. In back, they stripped me down to my skivvies, and took exacting measurements. I told them I wanted both suits a bit lose, because I would likely put some weight on. (I also intended to pack a concealed pistol, but I didn’t tell them that.)

While they were putting a “rush job” on tailoring my new grey suit, a salesman assisted me in choosing several shirts, a pair of cords, two pairs of chinos, some casual slacks, and two pairs of jeans that I would not wear to do chores. I selected several silk ties, a pair of black Florsheim’s, as well as a pair of each black, and brown casual shoes. I drew the line at cufflinks. It didn’t take much persuasion to get me to purchase a couple of sport coats that would fit be better than the old one I wore last night.

The total cost was not as much as I expected it to be, however, even with the military discount, I was spending more than a months pay. I acted upon their suggestion, having them order for me another shirt, and a pair of pants for my Class-C uniform from the NEX; the Naval (and Marine) Exchange. They would ship them here, and for no extra charge, the tailors of Homer Reed Ltd. would custom fit them for me. As a thank you, they would send my khaki shirt, and the slacks of my uniform to the cleaners; no charge. I would be walking out of here in the grey suit, they even sewed in a silk “saddle” almost an essential with wool slacks. One of my new sports coats, and the pair of corduroy pants would be ready early this evening.

Back in my rental vehicle at ten minutes to ten, I knew I was cutting it close. Keeping a weather eye for cops, I raced to the parking garage I had previously entered into the GPS. I got there quickly, but the only open parking spaces were for registered tenants, or required a handicapped license plates, or a placard. I had resolved to not get one of those damned things; because I am not a cripple. Driving around in circles, my resolve was weakening. Realizing I was not going to be on time, I called Uncle LeBeau to apologize.

Carlotta, his secretary answered. She apologized to me, telling me that his meeting with a ‘Special Counsel’ was going long, and that I shouldn’t rush. She suggested that I park in the stall of an Associate who was currently out of town. She would notify the garage, to ensure my rental vehicle would not be towed. It took me more than ten minutes to get to my Uncle’s office. I had to convince a receptionist at the outer lobby that a black man actually had an appointment with an attorney of their firm.

I finally convinced him to call Uncle Jacob’s secretary. It was required that some other flunky lead me through a warren to find my uncle’s office, hidden in the bowels of Wilson, Adkins, Sherman, and Perkins. While not nearly as posh as the areas showcasing the partners, and other top attorneys, it was still far plusher than any JAG (Judge Advocate General corps, the lawyers and support staff for the armed forces) office I had ever seen. Carlotta greeted me, and offered me a cup of coffee while I waited.

I last saw my uncle at my father’s funeral. After his divorce, Dad slept at Uncle Jacob’s condo for a couple of months. Jacob got my father a job, and helped him get an apartment. He also urged my father to sue the VA, and supported him through the lawsuit. More importantly he was a friend to my father when he needed a friend. Jacob proved to be a true blood brother. In the nineties, relations between my father and Gramps were strained. They were even worse between Gramps and Jacob.

After the end of the school year in 1992, my brother John and I lived on the ranch with Grandpa and Grandma. James Junior lived with our mother so that he could graduate without transferring high schools. He had a good shot for a scholarship to the Kellogg School of Business, of the University of Chicago; which he secured. Ironically, it would be the death of him. My brother James’ academic success earned him a job with Cantor Fitzgerald. On the morning of September 11th 2001, all 658 of the employees at work in the offices on 101st to 105th floors of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, before nine in the morning died in the terrorist attack. 302 of their coworkers, for whatever reason weren’t there that day, or hadn’t arrived yet, survived. My brother maintained a record for perfect attendance.

Before Carlotta came back with a cup of coffee for me, Uncle Jacob arrived. We shook hands, then he ushered me into his office. Instead of sitting behind his desk, Uncle Jacob sat in one of the comfortable chairs across from a sofa, inviting me to join him. I chose to sit on the sofa, so I had my back to a wall. He mentioned that I was limping, and offered me a Tylenol 3, or something stronger if I needed it. I told him I usually just take Ranger Candy, otherwise known as ibuprofen, or by the brand name Motrin, by civilians.

Jacob said, “I manage to obtain some Blue Mountain coffee beans, from Jamaica, it’s the same coffee the partners and their top clients drink. It’s better than what you’re used to. I’ll have Carlota grind some beans, and brew us a fresh pot.”

“You’re such a smooth talker, you must be a lawyer. I accept your hospitality,” I said.

Jacob buzzed his secretary, and asked her to serve us the good stuff, but use the office mugs, not the china. Meanwhile he got me the Tylenol with codeine from a bottom drawer of his desk. He got a bottle of chilled water out a concealed mini-fridge, then gave me the bottle and pill. After I took the pill, and chugged the water, I asked my Uncle for another bottle, because I realized I hadn’t been drinking enough water today. While waiting for the coffee to be prepared, we chatted a bit about the physical therapy regime I was following.

When his secretary knocked, and then entered his sanctum sanctorum, we chatted about inanities while Carlota poured us each a mug full of ambrosia. Black. Jacob suggested she pour herself a mug too, and not to let the rest go to waste, as long as she saved him one more cup for later. We each sipped some of the rich coffee, savoring a rare treat. Jacob then grabbed several folders and manilla envelopes from his credenza, and brought them over to the coffee table between the chairs and sofa.

“Early Sunday morning I received a text from Adam. Uncharacteristically there were spelling errors and typos. He did not reply to my response, nor did he answer the phone. I am not certain if he texted me from his cellphone before, or after he called nine-one-one. I believe he contacted Mister Maclaren too, but I am not certain.”

Uncle LeBeau continued, “a bit after One PM, I got confirmation that Adam was declared dead at Boulder Community Hospital. As a contingency, Adam provided me a sealed copy of his will, and certain other documents. Among them a sealed envelope with some instructions, including the combination to the safe in his closet. As soon as I could I got out to the ranch. I was suspicious about what I saw out there. Supposedly when Adam thought he was having a heart attack, he called from the landline in the kitchen. That area was demolished by the blast.”

“I am looking into the timeline. I have arraigned for an investigator to document the time and cause of the explosion. I have directed him to not limit himself to just the explosion, but to follow up any other incongruities. It was getting dark, I wasn’t certain, but I thought that someone had tried to break into the safe, so I removed everything, not just what Adam directed me to take. I probably should have contacted you, but by the time I got home I was ... Overwhelmed. I am sorry.” He concluded.