Oregon Trails

by Olivia Gaines

  “Oh really?” Paul asked, gently pushing her shoulder, moving her towards the bedroom.

  "Mhmmhmmm," she said with pressed lips.

  “Well, I am going to make it so good for you wife, that you aren’t even going to wait until I’m done, but you are going to stop in the middle of it to go and make me a sammich,” he said with downturned lips to emphasize his point. He pulled hard at his belt and folded it in half, snapping the leather pieces together. Kalinda jumped.

  “When I’m done with you, a sammich won’t be the only thing you will be ready to eat. My nectar is so sweet and good, you are going to stick your thumb in it, and suck it all night like a wee babe, it’s that damned good,” she told him.

  “Shit,” he said. His erection strained against the denim of his jeans. Paul pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering with the last of the buttons. Quick work was made of the jeans, tugging at them until his legs were free. He stood before her bare, hard as a rock and ready to make her his.

  “When I am done stroking that kitty with this right here, you are going to purr all night in your sleep,” he said as he touched himself.

  Kalinda was in her underwear. The dampness was evident in the soft cotton. She had nowhere else to go as her legs had reached the side of the bed. Her chest rose high and low as she reached for the back of her bra strap, freeing her breasts from the lacy fabric. She rubbed her hands over her breasts, then her right hand moved low between her legs. “Purrrrrrrrr,” she said to him.

  In one step, Paul lifted her from the floor and dumped her on the bed. His lips covered hers, slanting over her mouth time after time as his tongue slipped inside of her mouth, his fingers slipped inside the soft pink panties. Thick fingers dipped low, feeling the slick between the lips of her vagina, collecting moisture that clung to the tip of his digit as he massaged her clit.

  “I’m a noisy lover,” he told her. “Especially if it’s good.”

  “You’d better bite down on a pillow if we have neighbors,” she said.

  Paul didn’t hear her. With one hand he ripped away the panties, sliding his body between her legs, aiming for the sweet spot. “Kalinda...wife...,” he said pressing himself into her, but no give. He pulled back and pressed some more. He was not fitting.

  “Kalinda, is this your first time?”

  “No, you are bigger than...you are bigger, I have to relax a bit more to accom...,” was all she got out. He repositioned himself and thrust hard, knocking the wind out of her from the bottom up.

  “Gooddd....damnnnnnn,” he moaned as he began to move slowly inside of her. “You feel so good.”

  Kalinda tried to catch her breath as her husband worked his hips, stroking areas of her she didn’t even know existed. Short breaths came out and she clung to him, the soles of her feet on the backs of his calves pressing down as her body adjusted to having him inside of her. His hands roamed freely, stroking her skin while his lips whispered in her ear encouraging words, begging her to let go, to give him what she promised.

  She raised her knees high to her side, sucking him downwards. Paul whimpered at the sweetness of the connection. Slowly, she rolled her hips upwards to match his strokes forcing his right leg to quiver. The words he was speaking were unintelligible as she found her rhythm and began to give back to him everything she could muster under his weight. A freeness came over her and her body accepted all of him.

  “Shift,” she called out, rolling to her side taking him with her. Her body was turned at an unusual angle, lying half on her side, her right butt cheek facing upward. Kalinda rolled her hips downward. Paul sounded like a gorilla getting a banana as a treat.

  “Hoo-hoo-hoo,” he panted.

  Kalinda rolled her hips again. Paul squealed. In one motion, she rolled her entire body, sitting on top of him reverse cowgirl and he lay sprawled out on his back. It was in that moment that she lost herself in the connection. The feel of Paul inside of her was a freeing experience. Her body was hot, her soul was singing and sexually, she was hotter than a summer night in July in Atlanta. Slow movements commenced as her breathing echoed through the room with every movement. Each time she raised her body and lowered it over him, she moaned. Louder each time until she was at the pinnacle of her pleasure. The thickness of him pulsing inside of her as her hands pressed into his hips, her nails scoring his sides, she leaned her head back, her hair touching his chest. Losing herself in the beauty of the moment, Kalinda let go and gave him everything she had. Her noisy husband was church mouse quiet as she rode him to a satisfying finish, bouncing up and down on him until her walls quivered from the release. She moaned all the way through her finish until her body drooped at the end. She fell forward over his knees, Paul still planted deep inside of her. Uncertain if he had finished, she looked at his feet. His toes were stuck straight up in the air, splay apart on flexed feet.

  Over her shoulder, she looked back at him. His eyes were glassy, his mouth was twisted, and he had two handfuls of bed pillows. Dear Jesus I have given him a stroke !

  Quickly she dismounted, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. “I will get a cool cloth and some water. I will be right back,” she said running to the stinky bathroom. Kalinda returned to find him sitting on the side of the bed rummaging through the nightstand.

  “What are you doing, Paul? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just looking for a piece of paper so I can write my Mommy and thank her for making me a real live boy with wood that grows into a baseball bat,” he said, chuckling.

  “Well, I guess I will head into the kitchen,” she said. “I mean if you are okay?”

  “I’m okay to cuddle or snuggle, or spoon or whatever the fuck you want to do next after whatever in the hell that was you just did to me,” he said mumbling running his fingers through his hair, the black mass of locks hanging loosely across his forehead.

  “What I’m going to do next is go make you a damned sammich,” she said.

  “That’s nice,” he said, falling back onto the bed.

  “Paul?” she called to him, but he was out cold. Soft snores could be heard after she watched him curl up in a ball, holding on to the pillow with a silly smile on his face.

  "Mhmmhmmm," she said with pressed lips. “Talking shit. Now look at you.” She located her ripped up panties and put them in the small trash can, then put on his shirt that almost swallowed her as she made her way through her new home. Her old kitchen in Atlanta was bigger than the whole house, but it was a nice little solid house. The front yard was the perfect landscape to any movie and out the back door was simply a piece of heaven.

  “And it’s all real,” she said as she made her way to the kitchen to put on the kettle to make herself some tea.

  Chapter 11

  T he smell of brewing coffee pulled Paul from the cover of slumber as he stretched lazily in the queen-sized bed, spreading his toes like an overfed cat. His hand reached out in the bed, feeling for his wife. The coolness on the other side of the bed spoke softly to a sleep-addled brain, informing him that she had risen a while ago. He lifted his head to see the indentation in the pillow where her head had lain beside him in the bed as they slept through the night. In the middle of the night he’d awakened, trying to remember if all of it were in fact real or some sweet, sexy fantasy that had played out in his subconscious. The faint aroma of citrus clung to the cotton fibers of the pillowcase as he pulled the object into his arms, squeezing the soft stuffing so that it would yield more scent molecules of proof that Kalinda had slept there. Kalinda. My wife.

  Where is she?

  The bed covers tangled about his legs when he attempted to kick them off only to discover that underneath the covers, he was stark raving naked.

  “Jeeeeezz!” he grumbled as he looked about the floor for his clothing. Stiffly, he eased his way from the bed over to the strewn pieces Kalinda had picked up and placed across the back of the chair in the corner. Paul groaned slightly as he bent to pull the jeans over his legs before making his
way to the bathroom to relieve himself. The bathroom door and window were open to vent the small space but it still stunk like bad memories of unsaid dark acts. Has it always smelled like this and I didn’t notice ?

  Quick work was made of his morning care, washing his face and hands before seeking out the pot of coffee that had called to him from his sleep. He poured himself a cup and looked out the back window. Kalinda was not out back. Worry started to form in his mind’s eye. Gripping the cup handle tightly, he went to the front of the house, looking out the very dirty front window. She stood on the porch, her back to window, leaning over the railing, cupping the second of his two coffee mugs in her hands. Her hair billowed in the morning wind like wayward thoughts floating on currents of morning dreams. Paul’s chest tightened as he leaned against the wall, slyly observing her and curious as to what thoughts were going on in her head about him. Her long, well-toned legs seemed to go on forever as they made their way upwards to the most beautiful perky bottom he’d seen in a very long time. This morning, Kalinda wore a loose fitting large shirt with loads of room that hung freely about her unbound breast. Desire snaked its way through this body, resting like a lump in his groin. The familiar hardening commenced as he turned away from her to pull himself together before greeting his wife to start the day. Last night’s lovemaking had been intense, powerful and scary all at once. Never had he orgasmed before without any control over it. The thought jostled him from a comfort zone he didn’t realize he’d been standing in – a zone in which he had been standing alone.

  Alone on the front porch, Kalinda breathed in the fresh air of a newfound freedom. Gone were the daily postings of a lie she’d made up in her head. There would be no more evenings of wine glasses full of empty fabrications with football player’s wives whose sole mission in life was to one-up the next girl. A warm feeling seeped into her belly that had nothing to do with the chicory coffee she was drinking. Kalinda could not imagine having come out of her front door wearing nothing less than haute couture with five inch heels. Today, she stood on the front porch of a two-bedroom house in the middle of nowhere, barefoot, wearing her husband’s shirt, no undies and no bra.

  “I’m free,” she said to the little red-winged blackbird that hopped across the stairs.

  “Free from what?” a deep voice asked.

  Kalinda looked over her shoulder at her new husband. “I am free from the prison of my imagination,” she said.

  The desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her was strong. Instead, he touched a strand of her hair, twisting it about his index finger. His brown eyes searched her face, wanting to ask but understanding she would speak of her life in Georgia when she was ready. Until then he wouldn’t push it.

  “Thank you,” he said to her.

  “For what?”

  “For making my second day as your husband stupendous,” he said with a smile.

  “Well, that’s a five-dollar word if I ever heard one on a Sunday morning,” she replied.

  “I know lots of big words. I even have a really big dictionary that I ain’t afraid to whip out and use frequently,” he said, his finger still holding the strand of hair.

  Kalinda uprighted herself slowly, aware of his finger coiled around the strand. “Do you plan to whip it out and use it often?”

  “I am going to use it to spread as much knowledge as you will allow,” he told her. He tugged at the strand of hair, pulling it and its owner closer to him. “Last night...”

  In the background his cell phone rang.

  “Excuse me one moment,” he said to her. Walking away, his damp footmarks marred the wooden floor, disappearing as if he had never been there.

  The coffee in her mug was cold but her body was not. Standing so close to Paul had warmed her considerably from the center of her core all the way to her toes. The little blackbird’s head cocked to the side as it watched her go inside the house.

  “Go on about your business little man and catch that worm,” she said, closing the front door. A screened door would be nice. She made a mental note as she created a small list in her head of honey-need-to-do projects. At the top of her list was some major housekeeping. The house wasn’t filthy, but in need of a good cleaning and a woman’s touch. The chalet styled little home had one front window with a lopsided blind that made the house appear to be winking at onlookers. Knotty pine hardwood floors were throughout, but some rugs would really warm the rooms up. The couch had seen better days, the television was a 19 inch, and he had two plates in the cabinet. Kalinda was grateful she had requested photos of each room of the house, which helped with selecting what she shipped out to Oregon to set up their home. The items should be arriving any day now. “I need to get started cleaning,” she told herself.

  “Kalinda,” Paul said with the phone to his ear. “Do you know anything about a delivery truck? There is one in town at the post office.”

  “Oh great! My stuff has arrived,” she said with a smile. “Let me get dressed.”

  Hopping Bob, who ran the service station, was on the other line trying to explain what he was seeing. The old Indian was having a helluva time trying to describe the truck and the contents attached to the flat bed.

  “We got it, Bob, just send him in my direction and I will greet him at the base of the canyon,” Paul said.

  Paul, bare-chested and barefooted, stood on the porch wondering what in the world Bob was trying to describe. It didn’t take long before he could hear the truck coming up the road. Kalinda returned, fully dressed with a shirt and shoes for him along with keys to the vehicle. Her husband was a fine specimen of a man with bulging biceps, perfectly shaped pecs, and abdominal muscles that defined abdominal muscles. Her hands rubbed over the bumps on his belly.

  “Wow, you are some kind of sexy, Paul Darton,” she said as she passed him, walking down the three front stairs.

  “You are pretty sweet to stare at all day as well, Kalinda Darton,” he said with a wink. “I am curious to know what all is on that flat-bed truck.”

  “My new life,” she said.

  “Does your new life include a flat screen television?”

  “Yes, it does along with books and all kinds of goodies,” she said to him. “Let’s go meet it together, shall we?”

  Paul never made it to the vehicle. He stood in awe as the fire red truck came up the hill. The front of the semi was shaped like a dragon’s head with moving pieces on it in the form of scales that shimmered and moved when the truck turned. The seasoned driver shifted to lower gears as he made the climb up the gravel drive, pulling in front of the house. The flatbed of the truck was modeled after a dragon’s body with the tail gate as the dragon’s tail.

  “What in the holy Hell...” Paul said.

  Paul’s expression didn’t change when the largest black man he’d ever seen in his life stepped out of the truck.

  “Gal, what have you gone and gotten yo’self into now?” the large man asked, looking about the land then at Paul.

  Paul, who hadn’t moved.

  His eyes going from the truck to the giant black man, to his wife, to the truck, and back to the giant black man.

  “Honey, don’t be shy, come on over and meet my Uncle Randy,” Kalinda said.

  “Your what?”

  “My Uncle. This is my Mama’s baby brother Randy. He is the smaller of all of my uncles,” she said, trying to hold back the laughter.

  “The smallest? How big are the other ones?”

  “I get that a lot,” Randy said, his big booming voice echoing through the canyon. “A lot!” he repeated, yelling in the air, enjoying the sound of his voice being carried on the wind. “Ooooh Wee, this here is something spectacular!”

  “I thought so, too,” Kalinda said. “Uncle Randy, I stood on that front porch watching the sunrise this morning and I swear I have never seen anything so lovely in all my life!”

  Paul was still standing there looking at the huge black man, then at the truck, then at his wife. Words escaped him as he pointed at
the truck.

  “Son,” Uncle Randy said. “You either need to kiss me or shake my hand but you can’t keep staring at me like that. It’s not polite.”

  “I’m sorry,” Paul said. “But how tall are you?”

  “I am six feet ten inches tall. I wear a size 18 shoe, and Lord knows I am hungry enough to eat a bear,” he said looking at Kalinda.

  “Well, all my cook wear is on the back of that truck. You want a meal, you have to unload that flatbed first,” she said, patting him on his chest.

  “This lil’ man over here ain’t got a skillet and a pot?” Uncle Randy asked.

  “Who you calling lil’? Paul asked, trying desperately to sound tougher than he felt. “I am almost six feet tall!”

  “Yeah, almost,” Uncle Randy said. “I was six feet tall when I was 13!”

  “Fair enough, but was your head also that big when you were 13?” Paul asked. He then thought better of his quick words. It was a hard call to make whether to stand toe to toe with Randy the Giant or take the hell off running. He opted to take a stand. His chest poked out, filling with all the air he had, Paul held his chin up, praying that Uncle Randy’s big fist didn’t make contact with it and knock him the hell out.

  “You got a set on you, son. What’s your name?”

  “Paul. Paul Darton,” he said, still trying to stand tall.

  “I am Randy Marshall. My sister Annie had me lug this haul out here to check on her baby. She will be here next month to see for herself, but in the meantime, you are stuck with me for a few days. Now, let’s get this stuff unloaded so I can get a hot meal and warm bed. I left Georgia right before Kalinda did, and I am just getting here. I also have to drive back once I pick up a load in Idaho.”

  The back of the truck held three closed crates and Kalinda’s car. He’d planned to get her an all-terrain vehicle next week, but she’d shipped out her own. Now he was curious about what else his wife had shipped out to start her new life.