Eyl 02

Flamingos Ch. 20

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We had kept in touch, of course, Paula and I, messaging each other and even talking on the phone from time to time. Ashley and I had kept to the south for our year and a day. We had been as far south as Naples, Florida from which we had taken an overnight trip to Key West, gotten falling down, puke-on-your-shoes drunk, and made love on a sand beach, something I do NOT recommend. Sand gets in the damnedest places.

We didn’t get much farther north than Asheville, North Carolina where we decided we preferred the Gulf of Mexico beaches to the Atlantic Ocean.

We spent a few days in Nashville and Memphis in Tennessee (where the guitar players were so good I damn near went back to the trailer and burned my beloved Telecaster after hearing what truly good music sounded like). We explored the Bayou country of Mississippi where the Cajuns still seemed to live in the 19th, or maybe the 18th century, where they talked of gris gris bags and Voodoo in the present tense.

Arkansas had been boring but Oklahoma, another place that seemed to be stuck in the 19th century where anyone who had played for the Oklahoma Sooners was still a god to most, had been the home of some of the wildest sex I encountered in our year and a day.

Ashley wanted to visit, of all places, Tishomingo where Blake Shelton, her favorite country and western singer (and after nearly a year I was fucking TIRED of C&W music) had a bar called Ole Red after one of his hits. While there I spent a delightful night with a skinny granny age appropriate for me, who insisted we go across the state line into Texas and watch a high school football game in a stadium that seated 10,000. She was from Texas originally, with the delightfully Texas-sounding name of LindaSue (that’s how she pronounced it, all one word), and had grown up in that culture where football was a religion.

Later, we stopped at an honest-to-God A&W Root Beer Stand (who knew such things still existed), and, while the teenagers were cruising in their cars and pickup trucks she went inside to use the bathroom, and when she came back she made a production of hanging her bra and panties from the rearview mirror to a string of thumbs up from the carload of teenage boys next to us.

“You GO, granny,” one of them called, “show us your tits.”

She giggled and did that thing only a woman seems to be able to pull off, crossing her arms and peeling the oversize T-shirt that pledged her love for someone named Dak Prescott that she was wearing off in one smooth move.

“Sorry, baby,” she called, “just one.”

The driver honked his horn and the car erupted with cheers.

When LindaSue turned back to me I saw that her right breast was a nice C cup with a large, dark areola, tight and wrinkled with her excitement, and an even darker nipple pointing straight at me from low on a sagging breast where the pale skin was highlighted with a roadmap of delicate blue veins. Where her left had once been was a delicate scar line.

She had an odd look on her face as she said, “well?”

I grinned and traced the line of the scar, a very fine line slightly hard under warm skin, and said, “you’re unique and beautiful.”

Her shoulders sagged and she crawled across the center console, threw her arms around my neck, and kissed me, a hard, almost desperate kiss, drawing another honked horn and round of cheers from the car next to us.

I chuckled and said, “Okay, granny, now cover it up before you get us arrested.”

She pulled the T-shirt back on then and gave me a sidelong look. “Take me back to the park, David,” she said, meaning the RV park.

I punched the call button for the carhop (yes, it was THAT kind of place) and felt a little vibration in the truck. When I looked over I saw LindaSue squirming out of her jeans.

“What?” fındıkzade escort she asked, giggling, “it’s a long ride home.”

She got her seat belt on, waved the jeans at the car next to us drawing a final round of horns and cheers, and leaned back.

“Drive slow, sugar,” she said, her hand slowly moving down her belly to settle between her legs.

The little blue arrow started following the blue line as I found my way through the town, Denison I think, if it matters, and then onto Highway 91 for the 50 miles ahead.

Her womanscent started filling the cab of the truck as her fingers played.

The country we were driving through was flat and, well, “agricultural” is a good word. We would see maybe two cars a minute, it was that kind of an area.

She was looking around and said, “slow down, sugar.”

I took my foot off the gas and let the truck slow from the steady 58 miles per hour I had been driving.

“What?” I asked.

“Hold on,” she said, leaning forward, looking.

“There,” she said suddenly, “turn here.”

I almost missed it, a little road marked by two small reflectors.

I made the turn and stopped. “What?” I asked, “gotta pee?”

She giggled and said, “don’t you recognize Lover’s Lane when you see it?”

She did the crossed-arm thing and peeled off the T-shirt.

“Drive,” she said and the giggle in her voice stripped away at least 50 years.

We were off the highway about five miles when she said, “here.”

It was just a wide spot but I could pull off far enough to get the truck clear of any stray car that might happen by, not that I thought that would happen.

The truck had barely stopped when she opened the passenger side door and got out, looking like some natural creature that had just risen from the earth.

“Ouch,” she said, kind of jumping from foot to foot and ruining the image, “tell me you have a blanket, or at least a tarp or something in this truck. There are STICKERS!”

I chuckled and got out of the truck, more slowly than she had, even with shoes I was being careful.

I reached into the bed and pulled out the old moving pad I kept there for those times when I had to crawl around or wriggle on my back when setting up the travel trailer.

“Come on,” she said, stepping deeper onto the prairie, taking those mincing high steps we’ve all taken when we were unsure of our footing.

There was a little bit of a dip, kind of a roll in the earth, that took us out of sight of the truck.

“Right here,” she said, doing a slow turn, her arms outstretched, looking like a ballet dancer practicing for something.

So I flipped the moving pad like a bed sheet, spreading it on the ground.

She kept turning, until she was pretty much in the middle of the pad and then sank, slowly, with amazing grace, onto her back.

“Come on, David,” she said, laying back and holding her arms out, “let’s be 18 again for a while.”

There was enough moonlight that I could see her and the odd asymmetry of her single breast hit me right between the legs and I found myself, to my surprise, suddenly hard.

So I peeled off my own T-shirt, this one proclaiming that “I might look like I’m listening to you but in my head, I’m playing my guitar,” kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks, and pushed my jeans and boxers down. That line for the Blake Shelton son I had heard about a thousand times as my year and a day progressed, “I fell down, tryin’ to kick off my jeans” flashed through my mind and I started laughing.

That transitioned into a full-blown fit of giggles as she lay there, smiling up at me.

“Come on, honey,” she said, her voice husky, her pheromone laden womanscent powerful even in the open like this, “I think tonight’s taksim escort the night I give myself.”

I kicked my pants clear and lay on the pad beside her, kissing her, and brushing the stray hair from her face.

I realized she was role-playing at least to some extent and kissed her again.

“I don’t have a, you know,” I said, doing my best to sound like an awkward 18-year-old, “and I don’t want to get you pregnant.”

She giggled and said, “oh, everybody knows you can’t get pregnant your first time.”

And so we made love, under the moonlight and the stars, the dusty Oklahoma, or maybe we were still in Texas, I wasn’t sure, breeze cooling our skin.

I played with her breast, trying to remember what it had been like that first time. I kissed it with puckered lips, feeling the warmth and weight of it. I deliberately stayed away from the scar line on the other side, figuring that could wait for later.

I let the backs of my fingers brush across the wiry hair between her legs, barely touching the full lips down there.

I cried out when her fingernails dug into my back.

“Please, honey, don’t make me wait anymore,” she whispered, those nails raking down my back, making me wonder if she was drawing blood.

Her muscle control was amazing. When I moved to get on top of her, my erection full, and moved my hips to enter her she was so tight I couldn’t slip in as easily as I expected.

“Please, honey,” she said again.

I pushed harder and still, her clenched muscles held me out.

“PLEEAASSEEEEE,” she cried out.

I thrust, a hard, sudden thrust and I was inside of her.

“OH GODDDDDDDDD!,” she cried out but I smothered anything else she was going to say by kissing her.

“Oh God,” she moaned, “oh, honey, oh God,” and I felt the sudden tension in her body that only a woman in full orgasm can achieve. It was like every muscle cell contracted at once.

“Oh God,” she whispered this time, a soft sound, barely audible.

“Is it what you’d hoped?” I asked.

That time the smile DID take her back to her senior year in high school.

“Better,” she said, her heels digging into my ass, “now come on, baby, knock me up.”

Something about the way she said it seemed to break my inhibitions. I was in full rut now. This was not making love, this was pure fucking, and I was into it.

The night was warm and we were both sweating. The moving pad was soft enough but the ground was lumpy.

None of that mattered. Her heels were drumming on my ass, I was thrusting with abandon.

Hell, I was sweating, the sweat dripping off my nose onto her and she was crying out, “Yesssssss, yessssssssss, yessssssssssss,” over and over.

But I couldn’t quite finish. The pressure was building in my belly, but no matter how many times I pulled out and slammed into her, I couldn’t finish. Those big tendons at my hips were burning, and I was starting to pant for breath.

And I couldn’t finish.

“Come on, baby,” she urged me on and I thrust and panted and pushed and thrust some more.

But I couldn’t finish.

What finally put me over the top was when she grabbed a double handful of my ass and dug her fingernails in deep enough that I thought she was tearing my skin.

As I came, finally, her fingers dug in, over and over, with each hard muscular contraction deep in my belly pumping my seed into her.

“FILL ME UP!” she yelled and if anyone had been within a mile he would have heard that.

My back was arched, in part trying to escape what she was doing to my ass, in part with the power of my ejaculation when she came a final time, screaming her pleasure as she soaked our thighs and the moving pad.

I yelled myself when her fingers dug in again where I was already başakşehir escort hurting.

It was like both of our bodies were cramped, locked in this position, locked together. The image of two dogs knotted up came into my mind and I laughed and that seemed to break the mood.

Her fingers slowly unclenched on my ass and that allowed me to relax a little.

“Oh Jesus,” I managed, and then kissed her.

She giggled softly, 18 for a few seconds, and said, very softly, “yeah, oh Jesus.” Then she grinned and said, “not bad for old folks.”

I rubbed my ass, half expecting it to come away wet with blood.

“If I can ever sit again I’ll take you home,” I said.

“Pussy,” she said, laughing, kissing me, and demonstrating a surprising amount of strength, rolling me onto my back.

“Got seconds in this thing?” she asked, reaching down and capturing my dick and balls in her hand.

I laughed and said, “not right now. You know the Toby Keith song?”

“No,” she said, “what’s that?”

So I sang the line – “I’m not as good as I once was but I’m as good once as I ever was” – and she giggled.

“Well,” she said, “that WAS pretty damn good.”

So we lay there, under the stars, relaxing, kissing, making out like a couple of teenagers.

Until the night air got cool and we figured it was time to get going.

I pulled on my clothes and stood. She made one step and yelled, lifting her foot and holding it.

“Oh, Christ,” I muttered and picked her up, my left forearm under her knees, my right under her shoulders. She helped carry her weight by reaching around my neck and pulling.

It hadn’t seemed far walking over to this spot but with her in my arms, it sure felt like far walking back.

I got her to the truck, found the cactus quill in her foot by the dome light, got my First Aid kit out, and smeared a little of the antibiotic ointment on the red spot. Then, as she sat, listening to the radio, I trekked back to get my moving pad.

I had to laugh about five minutes into my search. I couldn’t find the damn thing. I wandered around in the dim moonlight and finally stumbled over it giving me a fit of the giggles. It hit me that I hadn’t laughed like this without alcohol or pot in a long time.

The rest of the trip back to the trailer was anticlimactic. I suppose it had to be. That would be hard to match.

“You know,” I said, chuckling, “that was a first for me.”

“You never did it outside before?” she asked.

“In the backyard, yes,” I said, “but never on a lover’s lane.”

“Did you like it?” she asked.

“I did,” I said.

“Good,” she said, “because I did too.”

Later, in bed, with better light, I explored that scar along her chest.

“Am I hideous?” she asked.

I traced the scar with my fingertip and grinned at her. “No, LindaSue,” I said, “there’s more to a woman than two tits, you know.”

When she started to respond I shushed her with a fingertip to her lips.

“There’s a mouth,” and I let my fingertip fun down her body to find the delta of pubic hair between her legs, “and a pussy,” I moved my finger farther back, “an asshole,” I touched her hand, “two hands,” I squirmed around and touched her feet, “and two feet.”

“Oh?” she said, smiling, “is that what we are to you?”

I touched her forehead, just a little above a spot right between her eyes, “Annnddddd,” I said, drawing the word out and ending it with a little kiss, “there’s the best part of all, your mind.”

She kissed me then, a touch of desperation in that kiss.

“But,” I said, pushing her far enough away to focus on her eyes, “you ain’t worth a shit when it comes to a titty fuck.”

She laughed at that then and said, “this one ain’t too bad.”

“This one,” I said, chuckling and lifting her one breast, then kissing my way to her nipple and suckling a little before releasing it to say, “is absolutely delightful.”

We snuggled then, nuzzling, kissing softly, touching, until we drifted off to sleep. It HAD been a high-energy evening.

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