Joe returned with some dry kindling and proceeded to make a small fire in the sooty puddle which was all that remained of the previous night’s fire. He was far more successful than I would have been and left me tending to the fire while he went off in search of more fuel. Steam started to rise from my skirts as the material warmed and the heat started to return to my body. The pastor took it upon himself to make some coffee and cook some bacon. Joe returned with an armful of wood. Our talk turned to planning as Joe broke the wood over his knee.
“Well, I guess we’re going to have to walk now,” said Joe.
“How far is it?” asked the pastor, as if he were being put upon.
“Hardly matters Reverend. We don’t hardly got no choice do we?”
“I suppose not, no.”
Joe was clearly frustrated by Reverend Brown’s attitude, but there was nothing either of us could do to change it.
We each had another apple, some bacon and coffee. I was finally warming up. My jacket was almost dry, as were my skirts. The blankets were laid out in the sun.
Joe said, “If we set out soon, we should make it to the next town before sundown. That way, we won’t need to carry no blankets, nor food. Just the clothes we’re stood up in and some water. We’ll travel quicker if we’re travelling lighter.”
The pastor insisted on carrying his bible. I hid the carpet bag a little ways from the campfire, between the roots of a tree. I was kind of sorry to leave that little box behind, and my thoughts turned to the fun I might have had with that lacquered wooden device if things had turned out differently.
Joe set quite a pace, and though I struggled to keep up, I didn’t struggle as much as the pastor. The sun beat down on us and there was rarely any shade. I felt my face becoming pink even under my bonnet. It was lucky that we came upon the occasional stream; we drank an awful lot of water as we followed the trail towards town. Along around the middle of the afternoon, we reached the top of a little rise, and looked down into the town. Finally, civilization. It took us another hour walking before we reached the first building on the edge of town. We could see larger buildings a couple of hundred yards away; inwardly, we all prayed there was a hotel.
Whether or not the Lord answered our prayers, it turned out that there was indeed a hotel. Moreover, there were three rooms available. Using some of the bandit’s gold, we payed for our rooms. I asked for a bath as well, and the hotel manager made the arrangements. Less than an hour later, I was up to my neck in steaming hot water in a tin bath in my room. I felt like I could start to put the events of the last couple of days behind me.
There was a knock at the door. “Who is it,” I called out.
“It’s me,” came the reply. It was Joe’s voice.
“You’ll have to come back later,” I called.
“Why’s that, Miss Mary?”
“I’m in the bath,” I whispered, hoping I was loud enough for him to hear, without informing the rest of the hotel.
“I could wash your back for you,” he replied cheekily.
“That’s a kind offer, Joe. But no. And I don’t want you to serenade me either.”
“You sure? Not even that song about San Pedro?”
“I’m sure, Joe.”
I arranged to meet Joe downstairs after I had finished my bath. I took my time, trying to ensure I washed the dust and grime from my body. It was also the first time I had had with any degree of privacy since I lost my innocence to some French postcards, Joe and the pastor. My fingers explored my body as if surrogates for the attentions of a man. I closed my eyes and thought back to the tastes and sensations of the time I had spent with both Joe and the pastor. Even though the pleasure I had with the pastor was the greater (particularly when he impaled me) my thoughts turned more readily to Joe.
...ooOoo…
Early in the evening, shortly after sundown, I went downstairs and there was Joe sitting in a big velvet chair, smoking a cigar. “Miss Mary,” he said as I descended, “There you are. How are you feelin’?”
“Very well, Joe--thank you. So very glad we made it, and so glad of your help.” My stomach fluttered a little as he held out my hand for me to step down of the final step. He could play the gentleman when he wanted to. His touch was soft, though his hands were rough and dry.
“You’re more’n welcome, Miss Mary. More’n welcome.” He smiled his big crooked grin and those steel blue eyes of his shone.
“And how are you?” I asked him.
“Well, I reckon I’m doing all right. That was quite a journey we made; funny though there’s parts I wished had never happened, there’s other parts I hope I never forget.” At those last words he smiled broadly, eyes shining. I knew exactly what he was meaning.
“What does tomorrow bring for you, Joe?”
“I’m not rightly sure, Miss Mary. There’s still a job waiting for me as a cowhand if I want it, though they’re expecting me and Buck--God rest his soul. How about you?”
“Well, I’m hoping to get the next stage out of town. But seeing as how the last town is disappeared now, I don’t rightly know when the next stage will be coming through.”
Joe took a long draw on his cigar, but, when he saw my disgust, he dropped it in a nearby spittoon.
“That’s a problem I can solve in the light of day tomorrow. Right now, I’m going to find a little to eat and turn in,” I said with a smile.
Joe touched his hat, “Miss Mary, please don’t leave town without lettin’ me say goodbye,” he said.
“Of course not,” I replied, with a smile. The hotel manager directed me to the dining room, where I had a bowl of stew with dumplings, and a tall glass of water. Then I reascended the stairs, entered my room, locked the door, drew the curtains and undressed. It was only when I was lying in bed wearing only a white cotton shirt as a night dress, that I realised with a start that I had not needed to unlock my room. The door was already unlocked, when I’d entered it. I was too tired to think anything more of it. I must have left the door unlocked when I went downstairs after my bath. So much had happened since I woke that morning, soaking wet from the thunderstorm of the night before. I drifted off to sleep.
I started to dream: I dreamt I was lying in bed thinking of Joe, and that my hands wandered across my body. I remembered the touch of Joe’s hand on my breast, when we were down by the creek. My other hand strayed between my legs and discovered the hard nub hidden in my folds; as my finger brushed against it I gasped. Then I felt someone’s hot breath against my neck. That someone stole a kiss, their unshaven chin against my cheek. Their tongue invading my mouth.
I am not sure which happened first: almost simultaneously I realised it was Joe, and I realised it was no dream. Joe was lying next to me.
I gasped but instead of covering my mouth with his hand to stop me from calling out, he covered my mouth with his and kissed me. His hand grabbed for my breast and I groaned; the sound stifled by his mouth upon mine. I felt the warmth of his naked body against mine. He pulled away from me; though it was almost completely dark, I saw the flash of the whites of his eyes and his teeth.
“Good evening, Miss Mary,” he whispered.
“Joe!” I almost added, “What are you doing here?” but decided that the question would have been purely rhetorical. I felt his fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, then his fingertips against my skin. I gasped and closed my eyes. Joe kissed my mouth once more, then my chin, my neck, my throat, my clavicle, my chest. I couldn’t stop him, didn’t want to stop him as he kissed me over and over. I felt his nose brush against my breast as he kissed me. I slid my fingers into his hair, holding him against me.
He kissed my navel and I melted. More of the images from those French postcards flashed across my mind’s eye. I felt Joe’s stubbly chin against my underbelly kissing me over and over. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his muscular back. Joe’s tongue slid lower still and I gasped, tightening my grip on his hair. My back arched, and I started to tense in anticipation.
Joe’s hands went to my thighs, holding them gently as his lips surrounded that hard bud. Again, I gasped and his tongue flicked out, revealing the bud, pushing back the folds which protected it. He could feel my body tensing as his tongue brushed against my centre. I let go Joe’s hair and grabbed handfuls of white cotton bedsheet.
“Oh my God,” I rasped before spasming in response to Joe’s tongue. “Oh Joe, what are you doing?”
“You know very well,” he whispered back.
His nose nuzzled my nub and the tip of his tongue touched my lips. I spasmed again. I had never felt anything like this. I bit my lip and my hands grasped at Joe’s hair again; but did I want him to stop, or never to stop? Should I pull him away from me or urge him on. Urge him on towards what? Did something more lie beyond this experience? Had I reached the pinnacle of pleasure?
His tongue slipped inside me and I felt the room spinning; he stabbed at me repeatedly and I was shaken to my very core. I tore at his hair but to no avail; Joe was not for stopping.
“Oh Lord,” I whispered, “Oh God, what are you doing to me?”
Joe grasped by buttocks in his hands and plunged his tongue deep inside me. I squealed; I tried to stifle the sounds I was making--the walls of the hotel were as thin as paper. I bit my lip, but still Joe pushed me higher up this mountain of pleasure. Each time, I thought that I must have reached the pinnacle--that no human had ever felt the pleasure that I was feeling, and each time he raised me up still further.
Sweat was glistening on my body, I shook my head left and right, trying to clear my thoughts, but it was no use. I was completely under his spell. His nose nuzzled my nub, and his tongue attacked the centre of my being; I could feel his breath against me, his whiskers against my softest skin. Then, it was as if the world exploded around me; I lost all sense of time and space, lost entirely in the pleasure of that moment. It was as if I floated above the bed, weightless and timeless, feeling nothing but pleasure.
Joe shuffled up the length of the bed, to lie next to me; I pushed him to his back and lay with my head on his shoulder, my hand on his chest.
“What did you do to me, Joe?”
He laughed. “You like that?”
“Oh Joe, yes. I have never felt anything like that in my life.”
“That’s what it felt like for me, down by the creek.”
“When… when that stuff erupted from you?”
“Uh huh.”
Silence.
“So you returned the favor”
“I guess you could say that.” I could hear Joe chuckling in the darkness.
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