Coming Home

Mr. Jordan kissed me as he had before, deep and wet with our tongues enjoying each other. He utilized his lips upon my bosoms again, licking and caressing the tips in a manner that made my nether self shamefully moist. His fingers played upon my skin, from thigh to breast, caressing me with long sweeps of gentle touch. Gripping my knees within his hands, he spread me open. I had expected to be penetrated shortly thereafter, as is expected in bedroom exercise. He did nothing of the sort. Instead he pressed his kisses to my nether lips. I was scandalized beyond anything, unsure of how to behave, after all the area is just, it is just there. Instead of stopping, he continued to thoroughly enjoy that portion of me with his mouth, using his tongue and his teeth and his lips. Despite my shock, I reached my crisis, far more powerfully than I’d ever experienced before.

When I recovered sufficiently to think, I opened my eyes to see Mr. Jordan’s face mere inches from mine. He smiled and kissed me. I was shocked once again to taste the dew of my womanhood upon his lips. I found that I rather enjoyed the taste upon him. While he ravaged my mouth his fingers stroked my nether self, drawing more wetness from within. He parted me and pressed the hot length of his maleness to my open womanness, then slowly penetrated. My inner muscles clenched and relaxed, accepting his broadness with difficulty. Eventually he was fully within me, a part of me as irrevocably as yeast is a part of fresh bread.

Mr. Jordan moved upon me, moving within me, his fingers rubbing upon that hard knot hidden within my sex. I was gratified with another climax and even more satisfied to have him join me. He reclined fully upon me when he had finished, our naked selves sticky from the moisture of our exertions and the moisture of our loveplay. I discovered after we had finished that he’d acquired sheepskin sheaths to cover his man-part with, to prevent pregnancy. I felt almost deprived of his seed, thinking of my belly full of his child.

September 25, 1874

Mr. Jordan and I have continued with our sexual activities almost exclusively when he is in residence. I have never been loved quite so much in my short life, nor so well. I did not know the many and varied ways a man and woman could join with each other. Mr. Jordan has taught me a great deal. However, I fear the day he leaves, moves on to some other place. I will miss him greatly. His excursions away from here are taking place almost daily now, and he has spent an evening elsewhere without explanation. Of course, I feel no right to ask him for one. Am I merely a convenience to him?

October 3, 1874

Mr. Jordan confessed that he had been leaving me to build his home upon the ranch he had purchased on the opposite slope of Angel Canyon, near a clear, cold creek than ran year round. Like my dream of my Matthew and his Rocky Mountain stream. We are going out today to view his accomplishments, so that I might see what he has erected. He had indicated that he'd hoped I would like his new home, that I would see it as a place fit for raising a family.

My heart fluttered within my chest, excited and dismayed. Was he hinting at something more permanent? Was he considering me for his wife? Plain, silly, boyish me? I felt my tears welling embarassingly at the fantasy of bearing his children and being his helpmeet. He kissed my tears away, saying that he hoped I approved of it, that I would find it a home.

I must find what sweet solace in his embrace that I can, most wantonly enjoying his body tonight. He is so giving of his body, has a woman ever been so thoroughly loved? I think not. So tonight and tomorrow night I will take what he will give me. On the 6th he leaves for Ft. Worth. I do not know how long he will be away, just that it is too long. He must fetch his herd and return with it. I am afraid, so frightened that he will find someone better, a young, fresh-faced, pretty virgin. Certainly not an old and well-used widow like me.

October 4, 1874

Mr. Jordan secured a buggy from the Old Man Andrews at the Livery. I discovered later that he had also purchased a nice picnic lunch from the Bon Ton. Quite unaccustomed to the public scruntiny, I blushed like a schoolgirl when Mr. Jordan helped me into the buggy. Widows had to be very circumspect in their dealings with the opposite sex, I was not. At the moment I could have cared less, let them wag their tongues!

The ride to Angel Canyon took longer than I expected, he took a different route, toward the north. Mr. Jordan handled the team with a gentle finesse that I recognized, his touch upon the reins reminded me of his fingers gliding across my skin. On the verge of the canyon, nestled into the foothills, sat Mr. Jordan's new home. Upon arrival he unhitched the team and secured them in the shade near the stream. Taking my hand in a most lover-like fashion, he led me to his home, bubbling with a boyish excitement. It was almost as if my opinion meant the world to him.

Mr. Jordan's cabin was roughly hewn, the thick logs muscled into place and thoroughly chinked. The windows and the door were placed with obvious care. There was a porch and a chimney. Inside there were three rooms, a great room and two smaller one against the back wall. There were no furnishings, but for a rug in front of the hearth and crudely made curtains framing the windows. They were of the same colors as those in my parlor and bedroom. The stitches in the curtains were huge and ungainly, a good breeze through a window would surely rip them apart. Mr. Jordan was staring at me with such uncertainty in his eyes, I knew he had made them himself. To please me? I smiled at him and told him that they were wonderful, they added the perfect spot of color to the room and complimented the view through the window very well. His answering smile was so boyishly adorable, I couldn't help but kiss him then and there.

He would not permit the kiss to grow, instead set me away from him. He took my hand again and led me about the rest of his property. The barn wasn't quite finished, though the outhouse and a storage building were. There was a corral and some other fencing. He spoke excitedly about his plans, he had purchased land and water rights from the federal government. I hadn't been aware that most of this range had belonged to the government, I had thought that either Gandy or Towers had owned it. They were the largest ranching operations in the area after all. He possessed a herd of cattle near Ft. Worth and he would be driving them in within a few weeks. He left on this mission this morning.

Mr. Jordan fetched the picnic lunch and led me to the creek where he spread out a blanket. He fed me my lunch in the most exciting manner. He broke off small bits of food and slipped them into my mouth, past my lips, along with his fingers. I felt myself growing warm and my nether lips growing moist. This was not an uncommon phenomenon when Mr. Jordan was near. I noticed he was not eating, and inquired as to why not. He stated that he would have his lunch very soon, when I was finished. I had thought he was being unnecessarily gallant, had I known what he'd truly meant, I would have blushed to the tips of my toes.

When I declined another bite, Mr. Jordan smiled and informed me that it was his turn. He put the remains of lunch into the hamper, confusing me. Moments later his kisses left no room in my muddled brain for confusion. He pressed me into the blanket and thoroughly ravished my lips. I was disappointed when he sat back up, but not for long. Mr. Jordan lifted my skirt above my waist and arranged them so they wouldn't get mussed. Then he tugged my drawers off, leaving only my stockings and garter. Spreading my legs indecently wide, he had me bend them at the knee and plant my feet. This posture opened my most private area fully to his gaze. The scent of a nearby pine tree and sound of the creek reminded me forcibly of my dream of my Matthew and the Rocky Mountain stream.

The way he stared at me, intense and absorbed, as if he were judging an artwork in Paris, made me feel incredibly beautiful and womanly. I felt the perverse need to arch myself and stretch in the most indecent manner. To preen fo him, I, the plain boyish widow, preening for this handsome sensuous man. It was almost too much. Abruptly he leaned down and lavished kisses upon my legs and thighs. His fingers slipped into the core of my womanhood and pulled the nether lips open, wringing an unseemly cry from me. Mr. Jordan licked at me, leaving no inch of my woman flesh untouched. I fear I cried out even louder. I have no idea how long he carried on lapping up my womanly dew, it could have been moments or it could have been hours. I was awash in a haze of pleasure, a panting, moaning, wanton thing under his tutelage. He kept me on the verge of my crisis until I could no longer tolerate it and begged him in the most unladylike manner to take me.

Mr. Jordan paused a moment, his fingers replacing his tongue momentarily upon my flesh, and informed me that he would not take me, he had no wish to muss my skirts and create a scandal that would ruin my good name. Still dazed, I lifted my head to stare past the matronly proper dark blue skirts to the roughly handsome man between the thin white columns of my exposed legs. His mouth and chin were gleaming in the westering sunlight, shining with the proof of my arousal. I uttered something I do not recall. Mr. Jordan reattached his lips to my womanliness and his tongue darted hither an yon. The sight of his head pressed to the core of me in so decadent a manner did not embarass me as I'd expected it ought, rather it excited me, bringing such a rush of my dew that I could feel it.

Mr. Jordan manipulated my nether lips, pulling me open as completely as I'd ever been opened. He places his mouth over the hard knot at the top and slid his fingers deep into the well of my womb. I recall screaming at the pleasure coursing through me. He suckled upon the knot and drove his fingers in and out of my person. I reached my crisis, my body lifting to meet his mouth wantonly. I screamed again, this time I screamed his given name, Matthew, a name I had never uttered before. I do not recall clearly, but I do believe that he replaced his lips with his fingers and watched the remains of my climax.

He did the most curious thing. He abruptly twisted away from me, to the edge of the blanket, and jerked his trousers open and pushed them down. He stood upon his knees, his body jerking. I moved so that I might see around his torso, at what he was doing. He had his hand wrapped around his manhood, furiously jerking it. It took only moments for him to acheive his crisis, spraying the whiteness of his seed across the grass. Despite my recent climax, the sensual feelings rushed through me once again.

October 5, 1874

I do not understand it. I went to the Mercantile today to purchase some apples so that I might make an apple pie for Mr. Jordan. Mrs. Chambers, the banker's wife, and her two daughters crossed to the other side of the street rather than pass me upon the sidewalk. They had to negotiate through mud and horse leavings to do so. Mr. Edwards, the proprietor of the mercantile treated me as if I had cholera, he informed me that his son would not longer be making deliveries to my home, I would have to make other arrangements. It would also be best if I found some other way of placing an order, rather than come in.

P.M.

Oh it's horrible! Betsy, my best most wonderful friend Betsy, snuck to my backdoor. She refused to come in, she could not stay long. Will had refused to allow her to ever see or speak to me again. I am a pariah, branded a whore! Some cowhand had seen Mr. Jordan and I in our passions beside the clear, cold stream. He had apparently raced to tell all and sundry what he had seen. Betsy read the truth of what had happened in my face. She said she was sorry and left. I raced to my room, threw myself upon my bed, and cried until there were no more tears.

Mr. Jordan is due home soon, should I ask him to leave? To stay? He is my only friend any more, how long will that last?

October 7, 1874

Mrs. Mullgrew and her husband visited this morning. They prayed over my wanton ways and begged forgiveness for my horrible sinning. They informed me that if my sin should bear fruit, they would gladly take my child from me and raise it as if it were their own, as they could not have children. I wanted to kick them out of my home, were Mr. Jordan's seed to ever prove fruitful, I would keep his beloved child.

Mabel Wilkins is spreading the most malicious gossip. She has turned my boarding house into a den of iniquity rivaled only by the most prestigious establishments in Dallas. She has the town believing that Mr. Cline, the schoolteacher, left because I threatened to evict him if he did not play the stud. Such rot!

I dare not leave my home. I sit by the window in my rocker and stare through the window. My safe haven has become my prison.

October 11, 1874

I made a trip to the post office and the mercantile, on the way I was accosted by Mabel Wilkins. She intends to have the lawyer look into Jack's will and the trust that had been set up for me. She did not think any hussy should have access to her cousin's inheritance to spend on a parade of lovers. The monthly stipend from the trust is how I am financially secure, the house is part of my inheritance. It wasn't very large, but properly managed and augmented by my incomes from canning and boarding, I would be able to survive nicely until I passed onto my own reward.

Mr. Spivey, the lawyer, had nothing good to say. Mabel had already seen him and begun the inquiry into my affairs. Legally, there was nothing she could do as the will is clear and concise about Jack's wishes. However, if she pushed it before the circuit court judge, there was a possiblity he would appoint someone to manage my affiars for me as I was incapable of doing so myself. My moral lassitude left me open to the machinations of men, such as Mr. Jordan, whom everyone knew as a known man and a killer.

October 13, 1874

I could not stand it a moment longer, the dead silence of my home but for the clock. No visitors, no friends. One of the jezebels from Madame French's offered me a token of sympathy on the sidewalk. A brief smile and an I'm sorry honey. The wealth of sadness in her eyes made me recall my own atrocious behavior toward these women. I told her that I was sorry also.

I rented a nag from Old Man Andrews, who slapped my haunches and laughed as if some great lascivious game were afoot. I set heels to horse and rode for Mr. Jordan's home. I secured the horse to a tree and loosened the cinch. I wandered about the place for a few hours, then sat upon the porch and watched the sun set. It was much too late to return home, so I stabled the horse in the barn and brought the saddle into the cabin for a pillow. I spent an uncomfortable night upon the wood floor covered with a smelly blanket.

October 14, 1874

It is once again sunset, I have yet to leave Mr. Jordan's cabin. I suppose I should, but it is so peaceful here, and I feel as if I am closer to him. I have had nothing to eat in a few days but an apple I found in the barn. I will leave in the morning for the boarding house. Mr. Spivey should have good news for me, oh I hope.

October 15, 1874

Upon my return to town, Reverend Mullgrew ventured over and prayed with me. I do not think he believed me when I told him I was there by myself, that Mr. Jordan was out of town on business. Mabel Wilkins snidely wondered aloud to her friend Irma Gray as to when I would take permanent residence in the whorehouse. Irma Gray was as shocked as I at Mabel's choice of unladylike words. I stuck my nose in the air as if I were better than everyone and marched home.

I do so miss Mr. Jordan.

October 19, 1874

Mr. Spivey dropped by to inform me that the circuit judge will be in town on November 8 to hear my case. He suggested I get a lawyer as Mabel Wilkins had already retained him and he could not represent me. He held my hand for an improper amount of time, obliging me to jerk it from him. Afterwards he professed a great admiration for me and the way I've held up despite my circumstances. He then offered to be my keeper now that Mr. Jordan had turned yellow and run from what he had wrought. I would just have to be discreet, there was his practice to consider after all.

I quite chased that odious man out of my house with a broom. Of all the nerve.

October 31, 1874

A bright spot in my otherwise horrible life. Mr. Jordan sent me a telegram from a little town called Poplar not so far away. He stated that he was on his way home and requested that I see his larder stocked, so that he might have something to eat by the creek when he returned home. The implicit meaning of his words made my heart pound and my womanhood drench my drawers.

Of course, the contents of the telegram were all over town by noon. Considering that everyone already knew what sort of meal Mr. Jordan had had by the creek, I received more titters and knowing looks from the good ladies of the community. Betsy took a few moments to sneak over and profess her jealousy at my good fortune in the man department. Apparently Will wasn't all that exciting at bedplay. We learn the oddest things about our friends at the oddest occasions.

November 6, 1874

The lawyer, Mr. Morton Brockwell, that I had retained, arrived on the train today. We spent several hours going over my case before he retired to the hotel. Under the circumstances, we agreed that it would be best if he roomed there, rather than here. Judge Lincoln was due to arrive in town tomorrow. Mr. Brockwell strongly suggested that I not be seen in the company of any men, particularly Mr. Jordan, should that scoundrel return, while the judge was in town. I agreed to remain in my home until after the hearing.

November 7, 1874

Will and Betsy came to my backdoor. Mr. Jordan has been seen in the area with his herd of cattle. Will said that he will make the trip to Mr. Jordan's cabin and demand that he answer for his atrocious behavior regarding me. No man worth being called a man would leave a woman to her own devices to stand the scorn of the town while he went gallivanting all over the countryside. Betsy stayed with me while Will went out to see Mr. Jordan. I am a bundle of nerves. What will happen when Will and Mr. Jordan meet?

P.M.

Will has yet to return. Betsy and I are growing increasingly more concerned as the hours pass.

November 8, 1874

The trial starts in an hour, no sign of Will or Mr. Jordan. I nearly talked myself into renting a horse and riding out to see if I could find them. Thankfully Mr. Brockwell was with me and I remained steadfast.

November 9, 1874

It was GLORIOUS! Mabel Wilkins has been publicly and permanently humiliated!

Judge Lincoln had a few cases to hear before mine. He conducted court in the church, it had been the saloon, but too many ladies wanted to view the proceedings. Everyone in Rio Verde was there with the exception of the children. I took my seat on the foremost pew on the left, next to Mr. Brockwell. Mabel Wilkins and her henpecked husband took their seats next to Mr. Spivey. Mr. Spivey sent me the most spiteful smile. Judge Lincoln took his place at the altar and called order.

Mr. Spivey stood and gave a long winded speech about women of loose morals squandering money. He claimed that the court had a responsibility to ensure that I was protected from my own wickedness. He stated that he, through the Wilkinses would be more than happy to oversee the trust. They were upstanding members of the community and all that rot. I wanted to scratch Mabel's eyes out and scream what sort of "upstanding" citizen Spivey was. Once he was through, the judge listened to Mr. Brockwell explain legalities and hearsay. He went on to speculate about the motives of the cash-strapped Wilkenses and Mr. Spivey's own tarnished reputation. He made a very good showing, however, I felt the tide of public opinion, and the judge's to be against me.