With his shirt, pants and boots back on, Joe headed over towards the woods to gather some firewood. Only when he was way off in the distance did I climb down the bank to the river and take off my clothes. I didn’t want to spend too long bathing--just really to wash that stuff from my face, and yesterday’s sweat and dirt from my body.
I stood thigh deep in the cold water and splashed it off my face. As I washed Joe’s emission from my face, a little touched my lips. It tasted salty as I licked them. I was shivering, even though the sun was beating down on me, the water was very cold. So cold it made my nipples stiffen. I washed my private parts as well, and felt a tingle between my legs as I splashed water there.
As I felt that tingle, images of Joe’s pecker formed in my head. I had been dizzy with the thrill of helping Joe shrink his pecker so that he could put his pants back on. Deep down, I knew that was euphemism for a sexual act, but right then, that was the easiest way for me to think about what had happened. I had been helping Joe.
I stepped out of the creek and used my petticoat to dry myself off; then put on my chemise, my skirts and boots. I climbed up the bank and back towards the stagecoach. As I approached the fire, I could see both Joe and Reverend Brown were sitting there, drinking from tin cups.
“Hi there, Miss Mary,” piped up Joe, “We were starting to get a little worried, but didn’t want to interrupt your ablutions.”
“I’m fine, thank you Joe,” I replied with a smile, “Have you found some coffee?”
“Sure have!” He replied, brightly. “Seems the driver had a few things. Some bread, bacon and coffee. Enough for some breakfast.”
I sat down and Reverend Brown passed me a tin plate with a hunk of warm bread and two pieces of bacon. Then he gave me a cup of hot strong coffee. The coffee pot was sitting at the edge of the camp fire.
As I ate my breakfast and the men finished theirs, we tried to decide what to do. We could think of three choices. First, we could go back to the town we had left the previous day. Second we could follow the trail on to the next town--which we thought was about six hours ahead. Or third, we could stay put. If we stayed where we were, we expected that the folks from the town where we were headed would come look for us. We were already late arriving there.
Joe was all for moving on. The pastor was all for going back. I could see the sense in both courses. I could also see the sense in staying put. We argued to and fro, but didn’t seem to make much headway. I was looking out across the plains toward the creek when I saw the bandits’ horses tied up. I turned to Joe.
“Joe,” I said. “I bet you’re quite the horseman.” I smiled at him and he straightened himself up, relishing the compliment. “How long would it take you to get back to town if you was alone, going hell for leather?”
He shrugged, “‘Bout an hour, I reckon.”
“Well then why don’t you take one of those outlaws’ horses, and do just that? The reverend and I can hunker down here and wait while you go fetch help. What do you say? Why I bet you can ride so fast, even if there were more outlaws they’d never keep up with you.”
He shook his head and threw out the dregs of his coffee onto the fire. “Well, I don’t know Miss Mary. I’d be right concerned for you and Reverend Brown here, all by yourselves. Well I don’t rightly know what might happen to you while I ‘as gone.”
“How long would you be gone, Joe? Two, maybe three hours? Seems to me you and Buck cleared the outlaws out of here yesterday. And, begging your pardon, Reverend Brown, I bet you’re a sight faster than the reverend here on a horse.”
“I am sure he is,” put in the pastor, with a nod.
Joe ummed and erred for a while, but finally agreed that the best plan was for him to do as I’d suggested, and go back to town for help. He saddled up the chestnut mare which had belonged to one of our attackers, and high-tailed it back towards town, raising a cloud of dust in the process. “I’ll be back around noon,” he shouted over his shoulder as he galloped away.
I turned to the pastor. “Well, if you’ll excuse me Reverend Brown, I’ll take these things down to the creek and wash them. I’ll return shortly.”
I picked up the stack of plates and cups in one hand and the coffee pot in the other hand walked down towards the creek. The reverend already had his nose in the bible. I walked as quickly as I could but kept an eye out for snakes this time. It took me no time at all to wash up. Before long, I was tiptoeing my way through what I imagined was snake-filled scrub land back towards the camp. When I got there, all was quiet. There was no immediate sign of the Pastor.
It was only when I walked over to the stagecoach that I realised the pastor was inside. I peeked in through the window, and couldn’t stop myself from gasping at what I saw. The pastor’s pants were at his ankles and he was stroking his private part as he looked through the carpetbagger’s stack of postcards.
Reverend Brown was mortified when he realised I’d seen him. He dropped the postcards and pulled up his pants as quick as he could. So fast in fact that he fell against the stagecoach door, which flew open, dropping him to the ground at my feet. Postcards showered down on top of him, and his pride and joy stood proud above the waistband of his pants.
“Oh my!” I exclaimed.
He was scrabbling to his feet and trying to pull up his pants. Postcards littered the ground, depicting all kinds of sexual acts, and nudity.
“I, I don’t know what to say, Miss Mary. I am ashamed, deeply ashamed of myself. I have sinned. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me.”
“Well, Reverend Brown, I don’t know what to say either,” I glanced down at the bulge in his pants--he was trying to buckle his belt, but was all fingers and thumbs. My heart was pounding. Only an hour ago I had seen a man’s most private part for the first time, and now, here was a man of God, looking at pictures of fornication. I really didn’t know what to think.
“Please, Miss Mary. You can’t tell anyone about this. It would ruin me. Please!” I could see the fear in his eyes; fear that I would speak, that his reputation would be lost.
I crouched down, and started picking up the postcards. “We had better get this place tidied up then,” I said, with as much of a matter-of-fact tone as I could manage. But each image I saw set my heart racing faster; I could feel myself blushing and had that funny, pleasant feeling between my legs.
The pastor started collecting postcards too, struggling with the bulge in his pants as he did so. I came across that same picture that Joe had shown me the previous evening and couldn’t help but look more closely. The naked woman really had taken the man’s pecker into her mouth. Before I could stop myself, I was wondering what that felt like. I paused for too long and the pastor said, “Please Miss Mary. You shouldn’t look at such things.” He held out his hand and I passed him the stack of postcards I’d collected. My eyes flitted from the stack to the bulge twitching in his pants. There was one more postcard on the ground. We both reached for it, but it was I who stood again, holding it in my hands. A woman was lying on the bed this time, naked with her legs parted. And a man was kneeling in front of her, his face between her legs as if kissing her most private part. My knees went weak as I handed that last card to the pastor.
Just as he had while we were under attack the previous day, he started to whisper the Lord’s prayer under his breath, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” He walked over to the campfire and threw the stack of postcards onto the embers. Afraid I would faint right away, I sat on the step which lead into the stagecoach.
“I… I never…knew...” I began.
The pastor turned to me, raising his eyebrows as if to say, “Never knew what?”
“I never knew that men and women engaged in such acts.”
“They are the acts of only the most depraved of people. Sinners,” he said.
“But you…” I glanced down, noticing that the bulge in his pants was still just as obvious. “Have you ever?” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t ask anyone such a question. I didn’t have the words.
“I must apologise for my behavior, and… the state… of my private anatomy.” He said, as demurely as he could. “I hope it will… diminish shortly.”
“But Joe…” It was out, before I had time to stop myself. The pastor looked at me quizzically.
“Joe said he… he needed help before he would… diminish.” I started blushing furiously.
“He… he took advantage of you?” Raged the pastor.
“No, no,” I said, trying to mollify him. “He just asked for my help.”
The pastor was shocked. “I hope you refused.”
I bit my lip and shook my head, “I did not.” My heart was beating like a steam locomotive. My cheeks were as red as red can be, but there was another feeling, down there between my legs, and oh my goodness, it felt so good, I couldn’t believe it was wrong.
“Do… do you need help?”
The pastor gave two answers: first, he said, “No,” and backed away from me. But second, he stumbled on a rock and fell flat on his back. Then the twitching bulge in his pants seemed to say “Yes.”
In a daze, I knelt down as if to help him up. “Are you all right, pastor?”
He nodded and I put my hand on his arm, as if to say how relieved I was that he wasn’t hurt. But then, as I drew my hand away, it brushed against that bulge in his pants and he gasped at my touch. “Oh Lord,” he whispered, trembling.
I leaned forward just a little and whispered, “I think you do need my help.”
I undid his belt, then unbuttoned his pants as if in a daze. I slipped my hand inside and wrapped it around his manhood, his pecker. “Oh Lord,” said the pastor again.
I looked down at him as I stroked the length of his shaft, relishing the feel of it throbbing and twitching in my hand. I didn’t think it would be too long before it erupted as Joe’s had done. He closed his eyes, and I tightened my grip. My heart pounded in my chest--it was like it was with Joe, all over again. But this time I knew what to expect. I slipped my other hand into his trousers and cradled his balls in my hand, as Joe had asked me to. The Pastor groaned that happy groan, just like Joe.
That first postcard flashed back into my mind and I wondered. I wondered what it would be like. What it would taste like. The pastor still had his eyes closed, so I leaned forward and took a closer look. The tip of his… his pecker was purple and shiny, with a little hole in the top. I leaned closer and kissed it. The pastor gasped and opened his eyes. He stared at me in disbelief, but did nothing to stop me. I opened my mouth and slid my lips down over his shaft, imagining myself looking like the woman in the picture. The feeling between my legs was almost overwhelming in its intensity. I gave the pastor’s balls a little squeeze and slid my lips further down.
All of a sudden it was as if he was having some kind of seizure. His body bucked, every muscle taut. Then that same stuff I had thought was rain spurted from his body and hit the back of my throat. It had the same salty taste as Joe's.
I sat up, pulling his rod from my mouth and swallowed what I could of his ejection. That same stuff was still leaking from the tip as I withdrew my hand. I felt fantastic. If this was something I enjoyed doing, it was startling to see how powerless men became with the offer of relief.
“I think you’re pants will be more comfortable now, pastor,” I said as I stood up. “Perhaps it’s time you went down to the creek to wash up?”
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