Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Wednesday Write-Up

In my ongoing effort to step up marketing my books by getting the word out there, I'm featuring an occasional free story here as well as on my other blog.  If you like my writing you might just buy one of my books.

I found this in my archives and I have to say I enjoyed reading it again.  Hope you like it too.  Let me know what you think?

SHE NEEDED TO FEEL THE THUNDER 

He might be the one; she thought to herself, when she saw him.  He was trudging up the long dirt driveway leading to her house, a black-and-white dog trotting along beside him   She was the recipient of her grandma’s second sight.  She often knew what was coming, often times it was good, sometimes it wasn’t. 

“Can I help you?” she asked as he got close enough to hear her shout.  People didn’t usually come out this way often, and she couldn’t be too careful since she lived here alone and there weren’t any neighbors in shouting distance. 

“My truck broke down on the highway, saw this dirt drive and took a chance. Can I use your phone?”

“Don’t have one.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.  How does someone in this day and age not have a phone?”

“It costs money to string poles this far out.”

“Ever hear of cell phones?”

“Why pay money for something that I don’t need.  Besides, where’s yours if everyone has one?”

He blew off that question.  He didn’t want to tell her he threw the damn thing out the window when his manager kept calling. 

“I guess I picked the wrong dirt road then, didn’t I?”

“Guess so.”

“Can Buck and me at least get a drink of water.  We’re parched from all this walking.”

“There’s a hose out back.  Help yourself.” 

She watched him walk toward the back of the house.  He was tall and well built.  His sandy colored hair stuck out from beneath his well-worn Stetson.

He and his dog came around front.  He obviously used the hose for more than a drink;  his wet sandy colored hair was dripping down his forehead and down his neck and Buck was completely soaked.  

“You live here by yourself?” he asked and where normally this comment would raise the hairs on the back of her neck; it didn’t.

“Why?”

“I noticed there are things that need tending.  If you need a hand, I would be willing to trade room and board for my handyman services.”

“Are you down on your luck?”

“No, but if you’re worried about me, don’t.  We’re fine, well at least, we will be once I get my truck fixed.  How far is it to town?”

“I’m just wondering why you were on that road in the first place?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I like to stay off the main roads and out of the mainstream.”

“Gottcha, but I should warn you the sheriff’s deputy stops by on his way home every day so if you’re in….

She never finished the statement when he piped in with “I am not on the run.  Buck and I were just looking for some peace and quiet.  We planned to camp and hangout, and the damn truck chose now to take a shitter.  Why does the sheriff come by every day?”

“As you told me that’s none of your business, but we went to high school together, and he lives up the road.  He likes to keep tabs on me since I’m out here alone with no phone.  If you’re still here when he comes by he can help with the truck.”

“Whether I’m still here or not depends on you.”

“I could use the help. There’s a room in the back of the barn, you and Buck can sleep there. Breakfast and dinner are at 6:00.  Eat hearty at breakfast because I don’t do lunch.”

“I’m Sarah Miller,” she told him extending her hand.

“I’m Wes Wilson,” as he shook her hand.  That’s the first time he’d used his real name for a while – he was Stevie Carson in his professional life.  Stevie Carson of The Carson  Wranglers,  a successful country/western band that had been touring the country for what seemed like years to him.  He told their manager. he needed a break but Dick Jenkins went ahead and booked them for another three months anyway.  He blew his top when Dick told him, and he just left the tour.  He flew home, packed up a few things, grabbed Buck and took off in his truck. He’d been on the road for two days when the truck broke down.

‘You’ve seen what needs to be done, so do what you feel capable of doing.”  She told him before she walked off in the direction of the house.  He figured her to be about 30 to 35 and could tell she was used to working outdoors.  Her skin had that permanent tan look about it – not out of a bottle, or a tanning booth.  Her nails and cuticles were clean and cared for, but her hands were working hands.  She was tall and willowy, strawberry-blond hair pulled back into a braid, with wisps escaping to frame her face.  Her eyes of the palest blue were direct and looked right through you.  She wore jeans so faded to almost appear white, a cotton tee shirt that clung to her in all the right places and boots that had seen better days. 

He worked all day and by 4:30 he was exhausted.  He hadn’t done physical labor in a long time, and every bone in his body ached.  He was taking a drink from the hose when she called out to him.

“I’ve made some lemonade, care to join me?”

As he sauntered over; she watched his slow, easy gait and ogled that long lean body.  He had removed his shirt to work, and before he slipped it back on, she took note of that six-pack and those muscled arms and large hands.  She wondered what it would feel like to be pressed up against that hard body and have those hands caressing her breasts, cupping her bottom. Stop it, she told herself.

He took the lemonade and collapsed onto the porch swing.

“How did you come to be out here all by yourself?”

“This place belonged to by grandparents and then my parents.  They organically farmed long before it became the in thing.  My parents were killed in a plane crash a couple of years ago, and I’ve been alone since.  I’ve tried to keep up as best I can.  I hire help when I can afford it, but mostly I’m by myself.  I have lots of repeat customers; my herbs and vegetables are the favorite of some of the better restaurants in the area, and I sell my wool to a private party who makes and markets her own products.”

He took a gulp of the lemonade, and some splashed onto his lip.  He slipped out his tongue to catch the droplets, and her breath caught in her throat.  It was a long time since she’d lain with anyone; her vibrator her only constant companion for far too long.

He finished his lemonade and told her he was calling it a day; he needed a shower.  He stepped off the porch, and as she watched him walk to the barn; her body tingled and felt a surge of wetness in her panties. 

He felt her eyes on him and hadn’t missed the catch of her breath earlier.  She was a woman in need of some loving; he knew he could fill that need; the question was would she want more than he had to give.  

Wes was in desperate need of a shower and surprised to find clean linens and towels along with an old chambray shirt tossed on a chair.  He didn’t expect to find anything so he was surprised she had thought of it.   He used the towels and the shirt; rinsed out his tee-shirt and shorts, so they’d be clean and dry for tomorrow. Tonight he’d go commando, and his jeans and socks would have to make do until he got to his truck.

The smells wafting from the kitchen made his mouth water as he walked to the house. It had been a long time since breakfast.  He envied Buck who was already chowing down his dinner bowl on the porch.

He heard a car and saw a patrol car pull up.  Jeff Kincaid gave him the once over as he stepped out and onto the porch.  “That truck out there belong to you?” Wes expected the third degree and was surprised when he didn’t get any other questions.  What Wes didn’t know was that Jeff had already called in a wants and warrants on the license plates and found no problems.

“Yeah, Buck and I trudged back here in hope of a phone, and well you know how that worked out.”  Jeff laughed.  “Jeff Kincaid here, and you are?”  “Wes Wilson. Nice to meet you and before you leave, can you call a tow truck for me?” 

“Sure. You sticking around for a bit?” he asked while placing the call.

“Yeah, til the truck gets fixed.  This place looks like it could use some TLC, and Sarah is willing to give me room and board in exchange for some of my brawn.”

Jeff was talking to someone about getting a tow out to Sarah’s place and asking where he wanted it towed.  “To whoever can fix the damn thing” was his reply. Sarah joined them on the porch to let Wes know dinner was ready.  “There’s plenty if you want to stay Jeff,” she offered.  He declined, got in his patrol car and drove off.

“You’ve got clean up, by the way,” she told him as she reached over to hand him the basket of biscuits. He caught a whiff of her scent, all clean and fresh and felt a stirring down below.  She wasn’t the only one in need of some loving.

 “Sounds good.  Dinner smells delicious.”

Wes rocked back in his chair and rubbed his tummy.  “You’re a good cook.”

“Thanks.” She started to eat her ice cream and Wes was mesmerized.  Each lick of the spoon drove him to distraction.  She’d lick the front and back after every spoonful and each time her tongue cleaned the spoon his mind traveled to other things she could do with that tongue. The electric current between them was palpable, and they both felt the charge.

“You keep teasing me that way, and you’re going to be in trouble.” She looked at him, all innocent, but those blue eyes told a different story and took another spoonful of ice cream.  Except this time, she flicked it at him across the table, and it landed smack between his eyes.  Her laugh sounded like tinkling bells.  He rose up from the chair, and she took off running.  “It’s no use; I'm going to catch you and when I do you’re going to be sorry,” he told her laughingly.

Catching her, he held her close as she tried to get away.  “Be a good girl.” 

“Or what.”

“Or I’ll have to spank you.”  He saw her reaction to those words and felt his pants tighten.

“Do you promise?”

“Oh yeah.”

“In that case,” she hauled off and kicked him in the shins.

“That does it; you are a naughty girl.”  He picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  Carrying her down the hall, he kept opening doors until he found a room with a bed.  He plopped down and brought her across his lap undoing the button on her jeans and pushing them down as he did so.  She rose to assist him, and as she did he noticed she was already ready for him. His big hands explored the beautiful white of her bottom, rubbing, teasing, massaging before bringing down the first sharp slap on one cheek and then another.  Sarah uttered a low guttural growl as his fingers brushed other tender places before his large palm descended on her bottom in a flurry of spanks giving those cheeks a warm rosy glow. With each break in the steady stream of slaps, she would raise up her bottom begging for more.  He would rub and tease until she literally begged for more. His final onslaught was fast and furious; each smack harder than the one before. He rolled her off his lap and onto the bed.  They were a tangle of mouths and hands, a frenzied exploration of each other.  Clothes that became an obstruction to skin on skin contact were unceremoniously discarded.  She took hold of him and guided him into her channel, unsheathed, but she didn’t care.  He rolled over bringing her with him so that she was now on top.  He kissed, nipped, and spanked her ass as she rode them both into oblivion.


She rolled off him, and they lay there, the bed a tangled mass of perspiration and sated bodies.  She reached over to grab his hand; he twined his fingers into hers. There was no need for words.