Her hair was a mass of dark, wet curls that fell across her broad shoulders and halfway down her back. She rubbed her chaffed hands together and grinned at me. "Sorry," she said, "know you was trying to help out there. Get you a drink?"I nodded, pulled a chair near the fire and yanked off my boots. She had breasts as big as a two pound sugar cones, and hips as wide as mine. She must have weighed twelve stone, a big woman who carried herself gracefully, a force in britches. She came and took a seat next to me, handing me a glass half full of mellow whisky. "Y'kin mull that if y'want," she said.I sipped. It was good stuff, and I felt it sliding down within me, warming. We introduced ourselves. She was Lucinda M--, the proprietor. She refilled my glass when it was empty and topped up her own. We listened to the fire crackle and spit and the wind shaking the shutters."Where y'headed?" she asked."Find the army, American army," I said, "Dan Morgan's force. Ought to be just north of here.". The next big burst splattered my shorts. Come continued to flow as he pumped. It trickled over his hand. I held out my cunt-wet hand and he grabbed it with come-soaked fingers. Mike stood and before he got his pants all the way up, I reached out and tugged at his cock. I wrapped my fingers around it, thick and slickery. A large drop of come popped out of the tip. I touched his balls. I shook my head at myself. “That was fun, Mike. What’s your email? Maybe we can do this again.” “Text me,” he said and he told me his number. I pulled up my shorts, feeling the damp from his come and thinking about stains. Mike walked away in the darkness. I stood for a minute, alone, feeling the humid air and smelling the grass. I repeated his phone number to myself, over and over. By the time I climbed into bed, having dealt with my clothes and taken a quick shower (and written down the number), Jason was just finishing a recorded TV show. Five minutes later, the TV was off and the lights were out. I.
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