by AnonYMous
As my throat had become very dry the liquid quenched my thirst and after a little while reduced the heat of my body. I was restless throughout the night, awaking frequently with a dry throat. Luckily, dear Mrs. Garnet had left a glass and a jug full of her mixture beside my bed. By morning my fever was much reduced, but on Mrs. Garnet's insistence I remained in bed and was allowed to join the family for two hours only in the evening.
The next day the fever had gone and my health was as normal, much to the relief of Mrs. Garnet and her family. The girls were delighted to see me out and about and, as the weather was warm and sunny, I spent much of my time during the next three days playing games with them in the garden. In this happy atmosphere my resolution to resume my journey to Chicago wavered somewhat but, on the other hand, I felt that it was not good manners to continue to take advantage of their kindly hospitality any longer and regretfully announced that I must board the boat to Toledo on the morrow.
Despite their pleading for me to stay longer, I was packed and ready the next morning for Mr. Garnet to escort me to the docks. On the way he pointed out various places of interest and informed me that Cleveland got its name from Moses Cleaveland, a surveyor for a Connecticut land company which bought the land. At a later date the early settlers dropped an 'A' from the spelling of his name.
On arrival at the boat, he told me to seek out in Toledo a Mr. Arthur Selwyn, a carrier of good repute, who would take me on his wagon overland from Toledo to Chicago.
Now, fully restored to good health, my aches and pains gone, I made myself comfortable and prepared to enjoy my voyage on the waters of Lake Erie.
We had just cast off when a furious uproar started up from the dock-side. Going to the rail to see what it was all about, I beheld two men struggling at the dock's edge restraining, it seemed, an old man from jumping into the water. The man they held had a wizened, wrinkled face, weathered and tanned a dark brown from a lifetime of working out of doors. His language was appalling and got worse when he saw the ship's Captain standing alongside me with an amused expression on his face.
'Stop the boat, you goddamned, pot-bellied son-of-a-bitch,' he yelled as he strained against the men holding him, cussing and swearing something awful.
The Captain, who indeed had a great swaggering belly spilling over his trouser belt, shouted, 'Now then, Tom Cuff, behave yourself and mind your language; we have a young lady here.'
As the ship got further from the dock he explained Cuff's peculiar behaviour. 'He is not a bad old codger. Unfortunately he has got a noisome sewer for a mouth,' he said almost apologetically. 'Some ten years or so ago his wife got sick when visiting relatives in Toledo and died before he could reach her. Every now and then when he has had too much to drink he re-lives those days and tries to board a boat to see his sick wife, long since dead. On the occasions that he does get aboard he sails to Toledo, then returns to Cleveland on the next boat with a haunted grim expression, dejected and drooping with the heaviness of his misery.'
I looked at the men still scuffling on the quayside and felt a deep sympathy for an old man who still carried an endearing love for the wife he lost over ten years ago.
Captain Houseman and I became very good friends on that voyage. He was a mine of information about Lake Erie and its neighbourhood. Inviting me to dine with him, he held me fascinated with tales of the early settlers. Learning that I was hoping to find in Chicago some people named Cubbin, from my island home, he told me that Chicago was named after an Indian called 'Checaqua' and that some of the best soap came from that town, manufactured by James Kirk who built his factory on the site of the first house ever built in Chicago. He went on to relate how early settlers floated inland on flatboards or barges down the Ohio River scrambling ashore when they came to unoccupied land and hacked a clearing in the forest to set up their first home in America. I listened to him for hours, learning a great deal about the Northern States and the people who lived there.
Disembarking at Toledo, I made haste to find Mr. Arthur Selwyn who I hoped would be able to take me overland to Chicago. After making a number of enquiries, I met up with his wife who informed me that he was not at home but would be back shortly. She was an agreeable, plump woman with a chubby rosy-apple face and, without asking, placed before me a plate of sliced beef and buttered bread. I was to discover that this kindly hospitality was customary in most American homes.
Having finished my meal, I was sipping at a glass of root beer when the clatter of a wagon was heard outside. It was Mr. Selwyn, a bluff and hearty man with a snuff-stained bulbous nose; he gave a fat smile of welcome to me and to a Mr. and Mrs. Smith who were also to join us on our journey to Chicago. Mr. Selwyn had been out and about collecting a variety of goods that people in the neighbourhood were dispatching to our destination and other places on route. The wagon was piled high with parcels large and small and I wondered how we were to be seated. But Mr. Selwyn, who knew the nature of the freight he was carrying, soon arranged it so that we could sit amongst it in comfort.
With a 'gid-ap' to his horse, Mr. Selwyn had just got started on our journey when a neatly dressed young man with a peaked cap carelessly pushed to the back of his head hailed us to stop and asked Mr. Selwyn if he could take him to Chicago. The freight was rearranged alongside me for our fourth passenger on the wagon.
Before climbing aboard, he swept off his cap and bowed to the company, introducing himself as Elmer Varley. He shook my hand, learnt my name, and then did the same with Mr. and Mrs. Smith, a timid, mousey couple who had little to say to each other or anyone else.
After making several unsuccessful attempts to open up a conversation with them, Elmer Varley turned his attention to me. He had the shameless charm of a born salesman, a bright and breezy manner with a merry look in his eyes and a sly humour which, to begin with, I was slow to take up, not being familiar with his style of wit.
In no time at all, in low tones so that the others couldn't hear, we were exchanging risque jokes, some of which would have scandalized our fellow passengers if they had heard our banter. He was slightly above average height, lean and muscular and had a pleasant open face with clear confident honest blue eyes which you felt you could trust under all circumstances. With a checkered brown and beige jacket and trousers, he wore a coarse striped waistcoat fastened with brown cloth-covered buttons.
Amused and stimulated by his witty conversation, I found him disturbingly attractive and my senses quickened to his captivating gaiety. Before very long we were sitting thigh by thigh, holding between us a book of humorous verse from which he was reading for my ears alone various amusing passages. Bewitched and bemused by his warm personality, time passed quickly.
The day was clear and sunny, a light breeze wafting over the fields on either side of us, but Elmer and I had no eyes for the scenery, only for each other. When daylight gave way to twilight, I looked up in surprise as Mr. Selwyn drew up the wagon for our first overnight stop. The day had gone over so swiftly that I hadn't noticed the passage of time or the sun setting low in the west.
Two small tents were soon erected, one for the ladies and another for the men. Mr. Selwyn, I was informed, would sleep in his wagon guarding his freight. We gathered a stock of wood and twigs and soon had a blazing fire to sit around while we ate the sliced beef, bread and hard-boiled eggs provided as part of the carrier fare.
After our supper I sat in the blushing glow of the firelight and gazed into the flames as I sipped at my mug of coffee. Mr. and Mrs. Smith soon retired for the night to the tents and so it was with Mr. Selwyn, who settled down amongst the freight on the wagon.
Bewitched by the eerie light that comes on a warm summer evening just after the sun has set, I watched them without interest go to their beds. I was in a quiet mood and sat as if suspended in time and space.
After some time Elmer, on the pretext that the fire was getting low, invited me to join him in search for more wood. His voice came to me as if far off. I could see through his manoeuvre to get me
away from the light of the fire, but wasn't averse to a kiss and a cuddle in the dark.
Completely bedazzled by his charm and warm personality, I let him take me by the hand and lead me behind a large clump of brushwood. When he sat down on the lush, thick grass I lay on my back beside him, looking up at the stars shining diamond bright in the canopy of the night sky.
Laid back, I felt his hand on my blouse, but made no attempt to stop him when he gently squeezed my breast beneath the silk. Overcome by the magic of the silent night I felt detached and, as far as I was concerned, was in a mind to allow him to do what he liked with me providing it didn't hurt.
Slowly undoing my blouse buttons, he played freely with my bared breasts and bending over me kissed them repeatedly with eager lips. His kisses made them glow with a warm sensuous feeling and for the first time in my life I felt the nipples swell and stand up firm. When his two hands clasped one of my breasts and he sucked at it like a babe I pushed the swollen nipple up further into his mouth, eager for more caresses from his lips. He nibbled it for a little while and then, abandoning my breasts, he kissed me very gently on my mouth. It was like a breath of heaven on my tender lips.
As the tip of his tongue explored my mouth, his right hand came up slowly under my skirt and softly caressed its way up over my thighs until it came to my giny. One of his fingers delicately stroked its way through the moist groove between the tender lips and up to the little nub above. Gently circling this centre of delight with the tip of his finger, he continued to manipulate it until my inflamed senses were burning with a desire to feel the fullness of his cock inside me.
The fervent sensuality of his tongue licking the lower lip of my mouth added more fuel to my ardour. In a fever of impatience to get him between my thighs I brought my hand up to his crotch and caressed the masculine bulge stored there.
My storming emotions subsided a little as he fumbled with his buttons to remove his trousers. Once he was free of them no time was wasted in getting between my pliant legs and easing his hard thickening cock between the moist lips waiting to welcome its entry.
My passions were stimulated to a white heat as the warm fleshy luxury of his cock filled my belly. The rapture that suffused my body and limbs was like nothing I had experienced before. Rising in me was a tenseness bursting to be released and I pressed my belly and the baby belly above my giny into him and rubbed them hard against his muscular flesh.
My feelings rose to an almost unbearable intensity as I frantically wriggled my hips under him. The passion that shook my innermost self took wing and soared up to a peak of exultation, spiralling up and ever upwards to explode into a thousand fragments of passion spent. Trembling in anguished joy, I floated down swirling around in dreamlike clouds of sensual ecstasy. Bathed in a golden glow of bliss and joy, I heard myself murmuring words of love to the man who had lit a flame in my heart that would never be extinguished.
PART TWO. GOODBYE, MY LOVE
Mr. Spinks was my last call before I returned to Chicago. He was a little man wearing, as always, a grey coat with black calico sleeves. His sharp eyes, looking out of pinched-up wrinkled features, peered at me suspiciously and with deep distrust. It was far from a warm welcome, considering that he had been buying soap from my firm for years.
I waited impatiently while he fiddle-farted around his store, picking up articles then putting them down again and occasionally looking doubtfully at the few bars of soap he had left from his last order.
The first words he uttered immediately irritated me. 'To tell you the truth, Mr. Varley…' (I cannot stand people who preface what they are going to say with the words 'to tell you the truth'. The implication is that they usually tell lies, but on this occasion they are going to tell the truth.) He continued, 'My customers don't care much for the James Kirk products, but if you will give me a special discount I will consider giving you an order. TheShandon Bellsand theJuvenilebrands of your toilet soap are asked for sometimes. I could give you a small order for them, providing you give a good discount. You see, your prices are too high for the folks of Toledo.'
Anxious to catch the next carrier to Chicago, I was in no mood to spend the next couple of hours bargaining for a piddling little order. 'I'll have a word or two with my employer about your discounts, Mr. Spinks, and let you know his answer next time I'm in Toledo,' I said. Before he had time to answer I was out of the door and making my way as fast as I could to Arthur Selwyn's wagon and laughing at the thought that the mean bugger would be without soap for his customers for the next two months.
Mr. Selwyn's wagon, with its three passengers, was just moving off when I came alongside his house and I had to hail him to stop. Removing my cap and making an exaggerated bow to my fellow travellers, a middle-aged married couple and a young girl, I climbed aboard and seated myself by the girl.
When I meet people for the first time I'm always a little apprehensive, talk fast and try to get a laugh to start with. A salesman has to appear confident otherwise his customers will be dubious of the goods that he is selling. You have to get on top right from the beginning and keep it like that from then on.
There was no response from the married couple to my overtures, so I concentrated my attentions on Miss Dara Tully, the young lady sitting beside me. She was a stunner, about seventeen years I guessed, and, unlike a lot of English people, not distant and reserved. With a captivating gaiety and a sharp sense of humour, she giggled and laughed at all my jokes.
Wavy chestnut hair, held back by a twist of broad pink ribbon, framed a face glowing with youthful vitality. Her hazel eyes twinkled in teasing merriment when she revealed teeth as creamy white as fresh milk in a smile which brought forth seductive dimples to her cheeks. There was a shapely pair of ankles beneath the cloak wrapped around her legs and an open-sleeved silk blouse with pearl mosaic buttons outlined firm little breasts which had a pert, upward tilt.
As we sat side by side chattering and laughing like old friends, I discovered that not only were my jokes being appreciated as they got more saucy, but her flesh was also responding to the intimate pressure of my leg against her thigh. It is my experience that when it comes to intimacies between the sexes the flesh never lies. The tongue can speak falsehood in abundance, but the flesh can only reveal the truth of the senses under the skin.
Come the evening, when my hands held her firmly around the waist as I helped her down from the wagon for our first overnight stop and she fell against me with her arms around my neck, the signs were clear-she was ripe and ready for 'it'. By the time we got ourselves disentangled 'it' was getting embarrassingly hard inside my trousers. With encounters like this one there was, after all, something to be said for the life of a travelling salesman. Although a twenty-five-year-old married man, who could blame me for falling for the temptation of a pretty young girl with beckoning eyes.
In the darkening twilight after our supper I invited her to help me to search for more wood for the fire. She rose to her feet without a word and like someone in a trance allowed me to lead her by the hand to a patch of grass surrounded by thick leafy shrubs.
As she lay on her back looking up at the stars above us I made my first tentative move. Unbuttoning her blouse I made free play with her firm young tits with the nipples pressing into the palm of my enfolding hand; they became firmer and larger when my lips nibbled at them. It wasn't long before my tongue was between the luscious lips of her mouth and my hand was travelling lightly over the soft full flesh of her thighs which opened out as soon as I touched them. As I said, she was ripe and ready for 'it'.
The slight swell above her cunt with its fine curly hair felt as warm and smooth as a dove's breast and when I cuddled it in my hand it arched upwards like a cat's back when stroked. Gently fingering the nub under this 'Mount of Venus', I brought her passions to a head. She was gasping for breath as the intensity of her pleasure increased. In no time at all, my trousers were off and I was between her pliant legs with a lusty cock throbbing hard to get inside her. The war
m, moist vent clasped him firmly when I thrust him forcefully up her as far as he could go.
Pushing hard up against me, she wiggled frantically and getting her hands on my back pulled me to and fro until I was having a hell of a time just trying to keep my cock inside her. For the first time in my life a girl was screwing me-I didn't like it. By the time she reached a climax my cock was beginning to droop and was losing interest in the proceedings. This was something right outside my expectations, although I must admit that, up to then, my only experience had been with my wife, Maude, who always lay like a placid cow when I got on top of her.
Up till the time I met Maude my life had been confined to the farm, working from early morn until nightfall. We had the land, but not the means to work it properly or to stock it with cattle. Barely scraping a living, we struggled on year by year making slow progress in enlarging our herd of cattle. There were very few opportunities for me to meet girls, or for social activities. I was nineteen when I attended my first barn dance and then it was only by accident that I did so.
After delivering a load of hay to a farmer about twenty miles from my home, a wheel shaft cracked just as I had started on the return journey. Getting the shaft repaired took three days and on the third night I was invited across to a nearby farm to a barn dance where I met Maude. She was patient with my ignorance of dance steps. I was clumsy to begin with but soon got the hang of it as I have a natural rhythm in my limbs. Drinking a lot of cider before the dance got under way loosened my legs and helped me to overcome my shyness in strange company. To get to the point quickly, Maude suggested a breath of fresh air would cool us down as we were both sweating after three or four dances. Being unaccustomed to alcohol, the cider had dulled my brain and I have only a vague memory of Maude loosening the buttons of my breeches and her guiding my cock into her. It was my first fuck and to this day I cannot recall anything about it.
