Margret had never seen rain like this. She had lived her whole like within a twenty-mile radius. She was a rancher, there were still a few left in Northern California. She had been caring for horses since she could walk and had been raising cattle since she had married Ben the month she graduated from High School. She stood on her porch watching the water fall from the sky and roll down the slope in front of their small house. She still called it their house. He had passed almost two years ago but it would always be their house. She was covered from head to toe. The rain suit had been his and she looked tiny covered in the heavy rubber but she was dry. She had checked the horses; they were settled in and fed. She couldn't do much for the cattle. They would be hungry when it finally cleared enough to get the quad up and out to haul feed. She really shouldn't be out of the house at all. There was a risk of mudslides. The washes were probably flooded as well. She would have been happy enough to settle down into her bed and spend the day with her books.
She didn't smoke and seldom drank more than a glass of wine so she had few needs that were desperate enough to force her to venture out. She was out of coffee though. Even after she had nursed what she had left she was out and she needed it. She looked at the keys to the truck in her hand. It was a large heavy truck and she would drive slowly. She would be okay. She would get coffee and she would get donuts. She didn't need the donuts, not the way she needed coffee. She just wanted them. She wanted the little machine made chocolate ones. She liked how they tasted when held in the coffee until the cake soaked through and was held in place by the waxy brown coating. Her feet sank into the mud with each step almost to her ankle. She pulled herself into the cab of the old Ford and as the diesel turned over she sat for a moment enjoying the heat at her feet and the sound of the large drops clanking on the metal over her head.
The drive way to the house was soaked through and she had to engage the four-wheel drive. She smiled at all the times she had teased Ben about how the truck had six tires but only four-wheel drive. It always made him sigh, as if she was the one being silly. The county road was paved and there were no tourists or trucks on it, not on a day like today. She made her way down the hill to the creek. It was a bridged creek and she hadn't even considered it would be as far as she could go. Trey's old red Dodge was parked in the middle of the road and she stopped behind it. She let the diesel idle and stepped back out into the wet. She found the young man standing in front of his truck watching the water run over the bridge. The red and white striped pole that warned of the danger was entirely submerged.
"What the hell are you doing out here, Maggie?" he asked. He didn't look at her; he just stared at the rolling water. He was soaked through. His wide brimmed cowboy hat and canvas jacket were little protection against this much rain and she couldn't help but watch how the water dripped off his cheeks, nose, and the greying whiskers of his goatee. She had known him when he was nothing more than a kid, helping ben on the ranch for a few dollars in the afternoons after school. If he was going gray, how impossibly old what she?
"Coffee." She said simply. He didn't say a word, only pursed his lips and nodded. She stood silently beside him. She was dry but was getting cold. He had to be chilled clear through. She couldn't help but think about his long lean body cold to the touch. She shook her head as if it would help shake the image out of her head. "How's Kayley holding up?" she asked him, as if discussing his young wife would help sober her up.
"Fine." He said, after what felt like too long. She didn't comment right away and the pause seemed to draw him out. "I suppose she's fine," he continued. "She's in the city." Each brief sentence was punctuated with a break and she wondered what he was thinking and not saying. "Staying with a friend."
He had accented the word "friend." She didn't want to understand what he was saying but she did. Suddenly she ached for the boy. She thought of how she used to make oversized sandwiches for him. He would pedal up to the house with a book bag on his back. She would feed him and then send him off to wherever Ben was working. When she looked back at him the tall heartbroken man seemed little if anything like the boy she had known back then.
"Fuck." She thought to herself not realizing she had said anything.
"What?" he sputtered, surprised by the word. He turned to her and a smile crawled across his face seemed to light up the gray day.
"Oh my god. I am sorry." She truly was. "I guess I just really need coffee."
"I'll bring some by. I don't want you going through the DT's." He grinned at her. She felt warm at the idea and again had to fight off thoughts she knew were inappropriate.
"Oh god, you don't have to do that." She said. It was one of those things a person says and doesn't mean and she wanted to take it back when she realized he might take her seriously.
"It's no problem. I'm not going anywhere today, that's for sure." He turned and looked at their trucks. "You need to get on home."
"So do you. You are drenched. You are going to catch cold."
Her words caused him to realize just how cold and wet he was and he shivered briefly throwing off droplets like a wet dog. "Go on. I'm right behind you." He said. Large strong hands reached out to her and she was surprised by just how closely they had been standing. He turned her by her shoulders and she trudged through an inch deep layer of water that was now flowing down the pavement into the creek. Inside the truck she was warm and dry and she watched him as he tugged the heavy chain across the roadway and fixed it to the posts on either side to keep anyone from foolishly trying to cross the flooded bridge. Without thinking she expertly turned the large truck around and it growled as it climbed the hill up towards her house.
As she made her way back up the county road she thought of the pretty young blonde. She had never fit into life out here. Trey had met her when he was in the service. Stationed in Pendleton he had picked her up in a bar close to the beach. She was one of those California girls that was too pretty for her own good. She was pretty enough that she drew attention from any man with a pulse but not as pretty as the women that made a living out of it.
Ben had been suspicious from the start. Before he was sick they would see the young couple around town. They met at parties and even had invited them over once or twice. The girl ran hot and cold depending on her mood. At first she had hated the country and the lack of distractions but after a few months, she seemed to be fitting in. Ben didn't trust it. "Every man in town gives her that look. She likes the attention. It's good for her but bad for Ben. I feel for him." Ben had argued. When the rumors began she turned cold again. Through Ben's illness Margaret had seen Trey from time to time. He would come by and offer to help around the ranch. When he picked up feed, he would pick up theirs as well and bring it out for her. The young blonde wasn't around much then. Maggie had questions for Trey. Was she just visiting the city or was she gone? How did he feel about it?
Maggie had never had kids and she wondered if what she was feeling was motherly or if it was something else.
After running from the truck to the porch she shed her rain suit at the back door and tossed it onto a wicker chair out of the rain. She was surprised by how dry her clothes were underneath it. Still, she padded in sock feet to the laundry room and tugged off her sweatshirt and jeans. Stripped down to her panties and a T-shirt she slipped quietly through the house wishing she had her caffeine fix and wondering if her coffee addiction was healthy. She turned the tap on the shower and waited for it to get hot. Her mind wandered briefly. How long had it been? Ben had been gone almost two years and the cancer that ate away at his prostate had ruined him for nearly a year before that. Jesus, how time can slip away. She pulled off the T-shirt and looked in the mirror at herself. Her panties, too practical to begin with and now overly neglected, went straight to the waste bin when she pulled them off.
She didn't think she looked as old as she felt. Unlike most women who had spent their lives on horseback and on ranches, her skin was surprisingly soft and smooth. She had none of that leathery look that most of her friends had. Her pale freckled skin burned too quickly. She couldn't let herself be exposed the way they had when they were younger. She hadn't had children. Not by any conscience decision, it just had never happened, and her breasts were still round and full. Certainly, they didn't stand up and off of her ribcage the way they had back when she and Ben were slipping out of class to find a secluded spot to make love underneath a tree but they were all right. As the bathroom began to fill with steam and the small mirror began to fog over she climbed her way into the tub for a long hot shower. She didn't make a decision to take on the long overdue task of grooming her body the way a woman does when it is going to be seen, but she did it anyway. Her shower drug on long after she normally would have been out and eventually the water turned from hot to tepid. She wrestled herself out of her stupor before it went cold.
She refused to admit what she was doing, even to herself. Once, when her fingers and the soap and razor had brushed so closely to the parts of her that had been so long neglected the word seduction had actually come to mind and it had shocked her to the point that her whole body had shivered. She chased away the conscience thought but the intent, welling up from deep within her could not be chased away so casually and after slowly drying herself and rubbing lotion carefully into her skin from the tops of her feet to the back of her neck, she wiped the mirror clear and carefully applied eye liner and lipstick. She was pleased with how she looked. She let her red curls run free rather then tying them up behind her head as usual.
"You've got that crazy red head look going on. I'm in trouble." She heard Ben say - a voice from the past.
"Would you have it any other way?" She said aloud. How many times had they had this exchange over the years?
"Not on your life." He would respond, a rare smile stretching from ear to ear. She never really understood the phrase but she understood the meaning. She could remember the first time he had said it. They had ditched class and taken off to the old pond. The pond was dry now but back then it had been wide and deep and he had suggested a swim. She had dared him to go through with it and the look in her eye and the way her red curls spilled out in a tangle around her freckled cheeks had drawn a look from him she will never forget. She stripped naked in front of the speechless boy and ran flat out until she was knee deep in the water before turning and baring her chest to him. He was hers from that day on.
She hadn't let herself be his crazy red head in a long time. He wouldn't have liked that.
She had pulled on her favorite sweater. It was a thick warm cable knit that she dearly loved but after looking at herself in it she tugged it up over her head and tossed it back up onto the shelf. There was another one she wanted. He had gotten it for her from a catalog. The woman on the cover of the mailer had caught his eye, or rather her breasts did. It was Kelly green and had a deeply plunging V neckline and when it arrived and she pulled it on it had revealed enough of her cleavage to cause him to take her then and there. They had missed dinner that night. She pulled it on and was admiring herself when she heard the rap at the door. She called out to him to come in but realized he wouldn't hear her over the sound of the rain that seemed to never stop.
They may have been in the country and she may have been a farm girl who seldom wore anything but jeans but they were only an hour and a half drive to San Francisco and less than twenty minutes from Napa. She, like every other woman her age, knew the effect of black yoga pants. Her best pair were a little tight, but wasn't that the purpose? She quickly pulled them up over her ass and although she felt like she should check herself again for flaws she was out of time. She scurried barefoot back down the wood steps to the door and the dark figure that stood on the other side of the opaque glass. She took a last deep breath and opened the door to him.
"Coffee." He said quietly, then, reflexively, "Wow!" He stood motionless on the front porch and she watched as his eyes moved slowly over her only stopping when he was unable to move on from the crease between her breasts.
"Come in. You are soaked." He didn't move until she reached out and took him by the arm pulling him into the front entryway. He dripped on the wood floor and she didn't care.
"It's nothing fancy. I hope its okay." He called out as she scrambled to the kitchen to put on a pot. It was just a regular brand and she typically prefered something more exotic but it was coffee and she was happy. She called back that it was fine.
"I guess I should get going. It's supposed to come down for the rest of the day." He called back, their conversation taking place from distant parts of the house.
"Don't be stupid. Look at you." She hollered back. "You clearly can't be left alone, you've let yourself get wet clear through. " She was embarrassed that she was standing waiting for Mr. Coffee to do his thing. "Get those clothes off before I tear them off of you!" she didn't even realize what she had said. The pot wasn't finished but she didn't care. She liked that first cup you get out of a fresh pot if you pour it before its brewed all the way. It borders on tar and it feels like you have to chew that first sip. The pot sizzled when she slipped it back on the hotplate. Sated with her first coffee of the day she waited for it to finish brewing.
"I don't want to drip all over your floor." He called to her. Filthy thoughts of him doing far more then drip on her floor raced through her mind. She felt she should be embarrassed by them but that wasn't her style, at least it never had been, and maybe she was feeling just a little bit more like her old self. She did manage to stop short of actually saying anything. She thought of him, stripped naked, soaking wet, climbing on top of her and she took a long swallow of the dark black goodness in her cup. She willed the coffee machine to hurry up and finish brewing.
Finally holding two cups of hot coffee she went to him. He hadn't moved from where he had entered and she found him standing in front of the door. He had listened to her to some degree. His jacket hung from one of the hooks on the wall. He was bare chested and bare footed and he stood in only his jeans. They were beyond wet and appeared nearly black and clung tightly to his legs. In his arms he held his shirts, a plaid flannel and white undershirt, and his socks. Water dripped from them into the puddle at his feet. His skin was pale, white as paper. His chest was covered in a dusting of dark and gray hairs. He seemed impossibly tall and looked to be every ounce of man she imagined him to be.
"I didn't know what to do with these..." he said awkwardly and they went about an odd sort of dance passing coffee mugs and wet clothes back and forth until she held his clothes.
"Give me your jeans too. I'm going to put them in the wash."
"Um. But then..." he stuttered.
"Something I shouldn't see?" she teased him, the crazy red head in her posing the dare. She was as surprised as he looked.
She could do it. Her mind raced. It would be easy enough. She could drop his clothes right there. They might even try up some of the puddle. She could tug at the belt and undo it. Getting the pants off would be a bit of a struggle but an enjoyable one. She would end up on her knees. His cock, yes, the word in her mind was cock, would be at eye level. She could pleasure him. She had always been good at that part. She knew how to pleasure a man. That's how it would happen in one of her books. She could imagine the words on the page. "Upstairs," she said. "In the little bedroom. There are some things. There are some in the closet and some in the boxes. Just get what you need." She took a long drink from her cup. The coffee was already cooling. She looked up at him. His face changed as she looked at it. Was it disappointment or relief? She couldn't tell. She turned and wandered back through the kitchen to the laundry. She tossed the clothes into the washer and listened. The old house creaked at his heavy footfalls. It hadn't had such heavy steps on the second floor in a long time. She tried not to cry.
She fixed a second cup of coffee and caught her breath before going upstairs. She found his jeans. He had hung them over the bannister. She saw a small puddle of water on the floor and understood. "Trey." She called out. "You find what you need?" The door to the small bedroom was open. She tried not to look in but she couldn't help but peer through as though she might see something. He didn't respond and she stepped forward another step thinking she might find him.
"Maggie." Came a deep voice from behind her. It was close. He had spoken softly. She felt him now.
"Did you find something?" She replied. She matched the softness of his voice. She adjusted her weight, just ever so slightly, such that she was leaning back. She wanted to know if he was really that close. At first she felt nothing but then, just when she thought she would be close to losing her balance, she felt him. He was right on her. He was so large, his body so hard, it felt as though she had leaned against a wall. She gripped her coffee mug in both hands so that they didn't shake.
"Maggie..." he said again. It caused her eyes to drift closed. "I wondered..." He paused again and it seemed to draw out forever. She realized she wasn't breathing. "I thought I might shower."
She didn't want to move. She didn't want to speak. She didn't want to give in and finally breathe because the slightest movement would bring the moment to an end. The longer she resisted though, the more awkward it became. "Of course." She answered finally.
"I was going to." He said. "I just didn't find any... do you have a towel?"
Finally, a mundane request. I simple task she could accomplish. It was easier to have tasks to accomplish. They kept her out of her head. "Yes. Here. Let me get one." She leaned forward, no longer balancing against him, and turned. He hadn't moved away. She found herself inches away from him. She could see nothing but his bare chest and when she reflexively cast her eyes downward, as if to avoid staring, she was presented with nothing but the rest of him, pale, cold, and naked in front of her. She saw the tuft of dark fur and then his manliness, dangling low towards her.
She laid her hand flat against his chest. He was chilled. It was as if she had laid her hand on bare metal on a cold day. She looked up at him. His eyes looked sad but his mouth seemed to curl up just slightly as if a smile was struggling to break through. As she looked at his lips they descended on her from what felt like an incredible height until she felt them, cold, pressed against her own. She felt her lipsgloss as their mouths slid together. It was another moment, overly brief, that seemed to end too quickly.
"I'm sorry." He said.
"Stop." She said back, just barely more than a whisper.
"Yes. I'll stop. Again. I am so sorry."
"No." she said. She tilted her head slightly, knowing the look she was giving him. It could melt a man in his shoes. "Stop apologizing." She wished she had more than the one free hand and reached up gripping the back of his neck and pulled him to her. This time she kissed him. Their lips and tongues danced together. When finally she let him loose, she felt his arousal pressing against her belly.
"Go shower." She told him. "There are towels in the master." She pushed him towards her bedroom. He took a single step backwards and she took the opportunity to take him in from head to toe. As he turned to slip into her room she leaned back, this time thankful for the wall behind her to catch her before she fell.
Food. She needed to make food. A long time ago her mother had sat her down for the talk. It was the early hours of the morning when she had discovered the blood and gone crying to her parent's room. Her mother had taken her and shown her what she needed to know and then brought her to the kitchen where she had her first cup of coffee and they ate store-bought cookies as her mother explained life the way she saw it.
Men need food and they need sex. If you give it to them they will do whatever you want but if you spoil them with it they wont appreciate you and it wont work. As old-fashioned as she had felt her parents were, it was true. Her mother was not the type to put on a hot meal every night. Some nights her father would come home and take them out. Others she would find him puttering around the kitchen. His specialty was pan-fried chicken. She remembered how shocked she was when she learned that all dads didn't cook half the time. She needed to make food. She thought of the blonde and figured he probably wasn't used to it. She scurried downstairs. She listened to the water in the pipes. There was something wrong in the house and the pipes made a dull thumping sound in the kitchen when someone showered upstairs. She hadn't heard it in years. She waited to start his laundry.
Canned soup and cheese sandwiches would have to do. She had the soup in a pan simmering and the bread buttered on the counter when she heard the thumping stop.
Feed them after. It was a small revision she had made on her own. Feed them too much before and they are lethargic. Besides, with Ben she had found he usually recovered his energy while eating and would be good for another go if she fed him after.
She reached the bedroom door just as he was emerging from the bathroom. They stood at opposite sides of her room. He had wrapped a towel around his waist. He had tan arms and a red neck but a pale chest and legs. He was a working man. She liked that. He would be strong. He didn't say anything and she liked that too. She took her sweater in two hands and pulled it up over her head. She had never been a fan of bras. In only her tight black pants she stood looking at him. He stared back. He looked at her chestbriefly to be sure, but now his eyes were fixed on hers.
"Trey, whatever you say, please don't say we can't or we shouldn't." The crazy redhead wasn't just back, she was in charge. "You can say you don't want to. I know I'm just a crazy old woman." She moved towards him until she was hallway across the room then paused and surprised herself by smoothly tugging the tight pants off her hips and down her legs. She closed the last few steps to him. She reached out and took his hand. Thankfully he still hadn't managed to finish his thought.
"Maggie..." he said. She placed his hand on her breast. He was warm now and she was the one that felt chilled. She felt his grip tighten on her and she sighed at the strength of him. "You are spectacular." He finished, and as if she needed to silence the silly boy, she pulled his mouth to hers again before melting into his arms.
She pulled him into her bed with a sense of urgency. It had been so long and she had allowed herself to fantasize about the moment so thoroughly over the last few hours that now, she simply wanted him on top of her. She wanted to feel him inside of her. As he kissed her she pulled at his hips, a not so subtle invitation to take her. Stubbornly he resisted. As she pulled at his ass he simply moved down her body pressing his mouth first to her neck and then to her breasts. His strength was insurmountable and his touch so delicate that he distracted her. As his mouth, and eventually his teeth, teased at her breasts and nipples she gasped and writhed under him. When his mouth moved lower, his chin scratchy against her belly she finally began to anticipate what came next.
Ben had been a perfect man in nearly every way and through their first years together she had come to believe that she just couldn't be pleasured the way. Trey now began to tease her with his tongue and lips. Had it not been for a couple of wild weekends in the city and the debauchery that was their trip to Jamaica she probably never would have learned to appreciate the proper use of a tongue on her. He tormented her, bringing her close repeatedly only to back away at the last second. When finally she couldn't take it anymore she gripped his head firmly in her hands wrapping her thighs, strengthened by years on horseback, until he couldn't pull away. When it hit her, it was as if she had been struck by lightning, the orgasm wrenching her spine, her body tightening around him.
After a long moment she could finally breathe and her muscles loosened enough that she could release his head. He gave her no time to recover moving the full length of his body on top of her. He entered her like a stake being driven through pine and she gasped at the size of him. With each thrust she squealed out thankful for the cover the storm provided. The nearest neighbor was half a mile away but she knew on a clear night her cries would have carried. Old Man Woods would have called the sheriff concerned she was being bloodily murdered.
The feel of him finishing inside of her was a long forgotten sensation and she gripped at him with the full force of her arms and legs as he filled her. Her gasping changed as a long forgotten joy caused her to giggle at him. She lost control and was soon laughing and crying all at once and gasping to catch her breath. When she saw the look of confusion on his face it caused another round of giggles. She pulled him to her kissing him and laughing and delighting in him. She was a crazy old woman and she was okay with that. She wondered briefly if the soup had burned on the stove.
May 13, 2018 in romance