Longarm #278: Longarm and the Sidesaddle Assassin by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 11

Another consideration that kept Longarm single was how different women could get without anyone having to be ugly. In contrast to the short, dark, and chunky Hazel the night before, the tall, blond, and willowy Rachel, like a lot of white gals, wanted to be on the bottom, in the dark, with her sateen nightgown on.

She seemed to find his lovemaking a whole new experience too, as soon as he had her jay naked with her bedlamp aglow, and on the bottom in deference to her expressed desire.

She seemed to enjoy his enthusiasm, inspired by the totally novel view as he long-dicked her on locked elbows with her more slender fundamentals atop two pillows and her long shapely legs thrown wide to the winds of desire. She sobbed for him to cut that out; then she laughed like hell as his love-slicked shaft kept making farty noises on the downstrokes. Then she told him not to stop, not to ever stop, as she blushed in embarrassment and climaxed hard enough to squirt a man out if he hadn’t known enough to leave it all the way up inside her as he felt her innards trying to immitate a milkmaid’s soft but determined grip.

Thanks to his having survived Indian torture the night before, he wasn’t able to come in her without moving. So as her contractions calmed down some, he commenced to satisfy himself, and as he did so, Rachel sobbed, “Oh, my lands! Are you trying to come again? Do you really find me that desirable, darling?”

To which he could only reply, “I’m still at it, ain’t I? Would I be working this hard if I wasn’t enjoying you a heap?”

She sobbed that that was one of the most romantic things any man had ever said to her, and commenced to prove it by biting down with her innards again as she commenced to combine the hip movements of an Arab belly dance with a South Sea Islands hula hula. So the next time she came, he was right there with her. He felt it all the way down to his curled-under toes, and since she’d taken to calling him her darling, he felt it only polite to address her as honey instead of Miss Rachel.

He did so, as they shared a second-wind smoke. Being she wasn’t a Mormon and they were not in public, Rachel confessed she’d often wondered about smoking a wicked-looking cheroot, and added she feared he was leading her far astray from her prim and proper upbringing in York State.

Such observations naturally led to the exchange of life stories that tended to go with such talk. Hers was another version of the one about losing one’s cherry to a small-town minister whose wife hadn’t understood him, leaving town under a cloud with a taste for adventure, and knocking around to learn ever more about men and money, with making money easier to learn.

Like many a man of action who’d talked some after the action, Longarm had learned to talk less and less about his past.

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