by J. D. German
meaning of life, and he was proving himself a dedicated student thereof. Once again Helen was alarmed. But this time it wasn't for her daughter's chastity. It was for Shorty's inheritance.
In yet another pre bed conversation she shared her new concerns with her husband. "Stan, do you know Shorty is riding down to the Buffalo Wallow every day?"
"That's what you wanted, ain't it? He's getting all his work done, and in record time too. And he ain't hanging around here anymore for Liz to play with after his chores are done. So there's no problem" Stan answered.
"Stan, if this keeps up that poor kid is going to squander every last penny Jake left him. We've got to do something. Talk to him!"
"Hell's fire, Helen! I can't tell him not to enjoy the Buffalo Wallow. Not after being the one who introduced him to it."
"Well why don't you go and talk to the deputy in charge and see just how much money Shorty's spent down there? We can work something out better when we know how big the problem is."
"I guess I can do that" Stan answered. That much he was glad to do for his young hired hand. And he wasn't opposed to the arousing effects and subsequent bedroom pleasantries that had resulted the day he had introduced the kid to the Wallow. So the next day after Shorty had been gone long enough to be occupied and therefore unaware Stan was checking up on him, Marcek drove down and spoke to the deputy in charge.
"Our hand, Shorty, seems to be visiting down here a lot lately" Stan started.
"A lot?" the deputy repeated with a laugh. "Hell, that kid's in here every day! What an appetite!"
"I'm getting worried he might spend every last cent he has" Stan told the lawman.
"No need to worry about that" the deputy answered. "The girls are letting him have it for free."
The deputy knew this because besides protecting the establishment's gals and maintaining law (well, all but one law) and order at the Wallow, his duties included receiving and keeping all the money. The place was a strictly cash operation, and on a busy day there might be close to a thousand in the till. With an armed deputy sheriff on guard, the founding fathers sought to eliminate the threat of robbery this bundle might otherwise provoke. So all "service" fees were paid directly to the deputy who appropriately credited each gal's account. The Buffalo Wallow was a co-op, not a profit making venture. The only thing the valley bigwigs who set it up wanted was to provide for the reasonable wholesome recreational needs of their cowboys and hired hands, with perhaps an occasional bit of discrete honey for themselves. As a co-op each girl paid a rent to cover the cost of her living while at the Wallow, her professional supplies, Doc's care and her "service" room. As long as she paid her bill, what she charged her customers was her own business. If there was someone she didn't want to charge at all, that was entirely up to her. In fact, each out-of-town gal who had a local boyfriend always entertained him in her room at the Wallow, without charge, of course. And none of the gals charged Shorty.
"Why are they letting him have it for free?" Stan asked in considerable wonder and not a little jealousy.
"Beats the hell out of me" the deputy answered. "Let's ask." He called across the lobby to one of the providers who was lounging in her professional garb, waiting for a customer. "Hey, Prudy, come on over here. I want to ask you something."
Prudy, perhaps the most inappropriately named woman in the valley, got up languidly, and slouched across the room to where Stan and the deputy were talking, popping her bubble gum as she walked. She was fully dressed. She had on a black lace bra that covered just about all of her breasts except for her nipples. Black lace panties covered her bottom, and an elaborate black lace garter belt around her waist supported long black lace stockings. The foot end of the stockings were slid into furry black slippers. And everything was covered by a long black lace negligee made of some kind of material that was as easy to see through as a politician's promises. In addition to the arousal her outfit provoked in Stan, it also caused a major degree of incongruity in him, for the pattern of all the lace garments seemed a perfect match for the pattern he remembered from the white lace curtains that always covered the front windows of his grandmother's house.
"Yeah, what do you want?" Prudy asked.
"Why ain't you gals charging Shorty? What's his secret?"
"It ain't no secret" Prudy answered. "It's the size of his prick. It's big! And it's so-o-o-o-o satisfying!!"
"How big it is?" the deputy asked in awe.
"Almost three inches" Prudy answered.
"Hell's fire!" the deputy shot back "nobody's giving me any for free and mine's a damn sight bigger than that."
Prudy looked at him with a big lecherous smile. "Yours is bigger than three inches?" she asked playfully.
"You're damn right it's bigger than three inches" he insisted.
She blew a particularly large bubble then popped it with a bang. "In width?"
END