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A mysterious older woman visits a strip club.
A light breeze lifted the side of the oilcloth and light bathed Horace's craggy features, lending him an air of male beauty that I had never seen before. Suddenly he lay back on the bed, the ropes of the frame creaking under the shifting of his weight and I saw what had so interested him.
I had seen cocks before; the little boys' I had cared for at church when I was young, the horses when they were rutting. But I had never seen a man grown before, especially one that was in its full glory.
The top of it was purple, almost bruised looking and as he worked his hand up the base of it, a thin, glistening fluid formed on the mushroom-shaped top. I watched breathlessly as Horace dipped his other hand between his legs, and was shocked to hear the low grown that action produced. The hand on his cock moved faster, pistoning up and down until he stiffened, the corded muscles of his legs straining against whatever pressure built in him.
Strangely, I felt heat pool in my gut, making me feel the restless yearning that I sometimes had when I saw Rueben work the horses or when Josh looked at me with slanting heat in his eyes. I seemed to be unable to catch my breath as Horace jerked up on his shaft one last time and a thick jet of white liquid pulsed out of the top. Horace lay there on the bed, breathing heavily himself, his eyes cast to the rough-hewn wood of the ceiling above him. I felt my hand slip, and the movement must have caught his attention, because he looked at me, his gaze burning.
I hurriedly slipped back to the stove, the strange, heavy heat still pooled in my belly. My hands shook as I finished frying the potatoes, my mind roiled with the image of that thick white liquid and the blissful expression on Horace's face as it appeared.
Dinner was just set on the table as the boys blew in from outside. They were ruddy-faced and sweating, their eyes glazed. Horace shot them a look, and snorted. "You boys'd better have done your chores before you got up to anything else."
"We done our chores, Pa." Josh slouched down on his side of the table, straddling the bench as he did. Ruben sat next to me. "Can't help it if we got... needs to take care of too."
Horace remained silent but shot me a dark look that made that down-low heat swirl in my nethers again. I kept my face down so as the boys wouldn't see my red cheeks.
To my bafflement, Horace said, "After tonight, boy, not before."
He grabbed the ladle out of the pot and poured the thick stew into his bowl before returning it. "Girl, I'll want to talk to you after dinner."
"Yessir." I almost jumped as I felt Ruben's knee brush mine through the layers of petticoats and soft cotton calico. Of the three of them, Ruben was the handsomest. He didn't look much like either Horace or Josh, with his dark curling hair and gypsy black eyes. Sometimes at night when Ma and Horace had been doing their married things, I picture Ruben doing the same to me. Even if I hated him, he still caused my insides to flip. I'd slip my nightgown up and delve under my pantalets, feeling for that tender bud that made my toes curl if I touched it just right.
Ruben moved his thigh against mine as his hand dropping below the table. I knew he was touching himself there. I could almost picture how his manhood would look unfurled in the air. I wondered idly if he would like me to touch it like I touched myself. I started when I saw the ladle under my nose. Ruben giving me that cocky half-smile he always did, the one that made me want to rub it off his face for good. I jerked the ladle out of his hand and dipped my own meal out. We all ate in silence like usual.
As the meal closed, the boys stood noisily to go outside and take their scraps to the compost heap before they put their dishes in the pail for washing tomorrow. I started to rise and do the same, but Horace told Josh to take mine. I supposed it was time to for that talk.
Horace looked at me a long moment before he pulled out his cob pipe.