by Sacchi Green
Maggie looks at me for what seems like minutes, a smile spreading across her face. “I fell for that when we were younger. I’m not that naïve any longer.”
When I tug her hand and step backward, she holds her ground, uncertainty in her eyes.
“Trust me.”
“Yeah, right. Last time I trusted you, we almost got caught butt naked in the truck up by the lake, remember?”
Before I can answer I hear Moon neigh loudly. The horse is lying in the hay, amniotic fluid rushing from her body. Maggie and I turn in time to see the white sac begin to protrude from the horse’s vulva. “What should we do?” Maggie’s hands are on the gate, her entire body tense.
“We just stand here and talk softly. So far it looks like she knows what she’s doing.” I put my arm about Maggie’s shoulder, trying to settle her down.
“Should we call Eric?”
“Not yet, we’ll know if she gets in trouble, and he’s only ten minutes from here.” I rub my hand up and down her arm for comfort. “By the way, we didn’t get caught naked and that’s all that’s important.”
She shakes her head. “No thanks to you.”
“Details.” I walk back across the aisle and get my coffee cup.
“What about the time before that, at the picnic in town? Behind the snow-cone stand? I know you didn’t forget that.”
Moon’s contractions are beginning in earnest. She moans to let us know she’s not happy. So far though, she’s not in distress, either. “It should be quick now.” I place one hand at the small of Maggie’s back and take a sip of coffee from the cup in my other hand. “As for the incident at the town picnic, that was a small miscalculation on my part.” The memory makes me smile.
Maggie’s eyes are on Moon. The mare’s head jerks, her nostrils flare, her eyes widen as a shudder goes through her. Now we can see the foal’s legs extending from the birth canal. “Is she…”
“She’s fine, so far everything is normal.” I kiss Maggie’s cheek and give her a squeeze. “Relax, talk to me.”
Maggie looks at me and then back at Moon. Her hand covers her mouth, trembling.
“She’s okay, I promise you. We’ve done this before, remember.”
“She’s my baby.” Maggie grips the rail, her knuckles white. For every contraction Moon feels, Maggie’s breath hitches a bit more.
“Talk to me.”
“What about?”
“Anything.”
She stands there staring at her horse, her pride and joy. Moments pass, and then suddenly, “What about the time at the drive-in, way back when there were still drive-ins?”
I stop for a minute as the memory washes over me. We were in the back seat of my Ford Galaxy, and I already had her shirt off. I had just pulled down her shorts and spread her wide when there was a tap on the window. “Now that was fun.” I leer at her, knowing she remembers where we finished our activities that night.
“Why can’t you learn we do not do well in the outdoors?” Maggie’s eyes never leave the mare. Pressure from lying down has broken the white sac now; the fluid will lubricate the birth canal and the foal. She rolls over on her side and begins the process of pushing with each contraction. Things are progressing well.
I don’t take my eyes off the mare. “It’s going to be soon.”
Maggie is smiling, tears in her eyes. She turns to me, excitement written on her face. “Do you remember when my father caught us here in the barn?” Her smile turns nostalgic. “There would have been a shotgun wedding if it had been legal.”
The memory floods back, and a small shudder goes through me. “Well, yeah, we were both naked, and I had three fingers buried deep inside you. When your orgasm hit, you screamed loud enough for people to hear you three counties over.” An image of Mr. Reilly’s face floods my mind. “We only got caught because you have a big mouth.” I lean in and kiss her on the lips. “But I do like making you scream.”
Maggie turns the cutest shade of red. Before I can comment, a groan erupts from Moon; now the nose and head of the foal are visible. “You’re doing good girl, keep going, you’re gonna make us proud.” I can see tears running down Maggie’s cheeks.
“I was afraid Daddy was going to have a heart attack. Remember he came running into the barn, his rifle in hand.” She wraps her arms across her middle. “I thought he might actually shoot you.”
I nod and grasp her hand, trying to steady her fears. “He took it pretty well considering the times.”
“Remember how he dragged us into the house?” Maggie squeezes my hand.
“Oh, yeah. He had us march ahead of him, with the gun aimed at my back.” The hair on my neck stands at the memory.
Moon lets loose with a cry as another contraction surges through her. We watch in awe as she pushes and the neck and shoulders of the foal burst through the vulva. Moon raises her head. “I think the next contraction will do it.”
Maggie watches Moon, captivated. “Remember when we got to his study, he had us sit. He poured a drink before he turned back to us.” Again tears run down Maggie’s face; I’m not sure if they’re for the horse or the memory of her beloved father.
“I remember, honey.”
She smiles at me. “He wanted to know what your intentions were. I have never seen you so scared.”
I bristle at the comment, but know it to be true. “Hell yes, I was scared. The gun was lying on the desk.”
Maggie squeezes my hand. I wince at the pain. “Easy there, tiger, I’m not made of stone.”
She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. “You were also brave and stood right up to him. I was so proud of you.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder and rest my head against hers. “We had discussed it. You knew I wanted to be with you, I loved you. It was time to tell him no matter what the consequences. I didn’t want to hide anymore.”
Moon groans, and pushes once again with another contraction ripping through her. As if by magic the foal slides completely free from the mare and lands softly in the fresh hay.
Maggie turns to me and buries her face in my chest. I can feel her soft sobs within the cradle of my arms. “It’s okay, the worst is over.”
Both mare and foal lie there in the hay, relaxing after the ordeal of birth. Blood still pumps between them via the umbilical cord.
Maggie kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”
I’m surprised by the gesture. “For what?”
“For staying with Moon, for talking to me.” She runs her hand along my cheek and cups my jaw. “For making me remember, for loving me.”
I lower my head, and my lips graze hers. “I do love you, always have.”
Moments later, Moon neighs loudly, rocks, and stands. A shudder goes through her body before she moves to her offspring, the cord breaking in the process. Moon’s pain is not yet over, with contractions to expel the afterbirth still to come, but she knows what is required. She begins calmly cleaning the foal, nudging it to stand. The bonding process begins.
After a few minutes I go in briefly to help out with a towel, though Moon is doing fine on her own. “It’s a filly!”
Maggie lifts her head and turns to the scene before us. “She’s beautiful, look at her.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Do you think she’ll remain black?” Maggie leans against the gate, stretching to get a better view of our newest property. “Oh, look, she’s got one white sock, just like Dante’s.” The awe in Maggie’s voice makes me smile.
I squeeze her shoulders and laugh. Maggie and I will be together twenty-five years next month. My love has grown stronger over time, and she grows more beautiful with each passing day.
I release Maggie and leave her to watch her charges while I get the wheelbarrow and rake. Shortly I will be able to clean up the dirty hay and spread clean for dam and foal to rest in. As I return to the stall I see Moon’s filly is standing on wobbly legs. Maggie and I watch in wonder for long moments until the foal reaches under the mare and begins to nurse.
Now that she is nursing, the afterbirth will be expelled easier. Mother Nature provides, and the new mother and filly will do just fine. A sense of calm settles over both of us as we take in the scene. No matter how many times I witness a birth I am still in awe. “Amazing.”
Maggie grasps my hand. “That it is, Bet, that it is.” She uses her other hand to wipe her brow.
“You can go in the house now. I’ll finish up here.” I tug Maggie to get her attention. “A nice hot shower might relax you, help with the stiffness of standing for so long.” She has a bruised hip, a reminder from falling off a horse a couple of years ago.
She shakes her head. “No. I want to watch her for a while. You can go in if you’re tired.”
“I’m staying. There’s still work to be done.” I turn to pull the wheelbarrow up to the gate. “I’m happy for your company.”
A short time later as Maggie and I stand sipping our third—or is it fourth?—cup of coffee, Moon expels the afterbirth. She moves over to the side of the stall, the foal following on her gangly legs. I slip in and begin the process of raking up the bloody, wet hay.
Maggie fills a bucket with oats and hangs it for Moon, who needs to rebuild her strength now. She fills the trough with fresh water and rubs Moon’s muzzle. “You did amazing today. Thank you, sweetie.” Maggie hugs the horse’s neck.
As I distribute the last of the clean hay in the stall, I turn to her. “I think you love that horse more than you love me.”
She turns and smiles mischievously. “It’s close, but I’m pretty sure you come in first.”
I roll the wheelbarrow outside, dropping the rake on the way, and then move up behind Maggie and pull her into my arms. “Good thing, woman, ’cause I get jealous real easy.”
She pushes against me. “What if someone comes in here?”
“There’s no one around. Eric is home; he left before dinner. The crew went into town.” I waggle my eyebrows and leer at her. “We’re all alone.”
Maggie turns in my arms and grasps my shoulders. “I don’t know who’s the bigger fool, you or me.” She pulls me down to her and kisses me. The contact is soft at first, but urgency sets in fast.
I grasp her hips, a tentative tongue reaches out, and I open my mouth. A moan escapes me as she runs her hands up my neck and tugs at my hair.
“I want you so damn much.”
We kiss again, gently at first. I run my tongue across her lips, teasing, tasting. Now Maggie groans as she arches against me.
My hands move to the buttons on her shirt, my arthritic fingers fumbling to open three of them. I spread the material and stretch my tongue out to work its way between the utilitarian white bra and her silky skin hidden within.
“Jesus.”
“He’s certainly not going to help.” I keep applying soft kisses as I use both hands to tug the cups of her bra down, baring what I’ve been dreaming about all day. I suck a hardened nipple into my mouth.
“I’m not going to be able to stand much longer.”
I release the hard nub and move my lips to hers as I palm her other breast, massaging the hardened tip between my fingers. She pushes against my hand, her breast filling it. I wrap one arm around her and pull her tight against me. A sensation builds low in my belly, an eruption of need.
Maggie slips her hand between us, reaches for my belt, flicks it open. The button and zipper soon follow. She pushes her hand inside, nothing barring her access. She strokes the soft curls, wiggles her hand down further, further still, dipping into warm moist folds. I open my legs. I want more. I need more.
I pull back gasping for air.
Maggie teases my entrance and then plunges two fingers into the wetness.
“Aghhhhh.”
She starts rhythmically stroking me, while her thumb brushes hard against my clit.
“Mags, please.” I am awash with pure sensation, desire spreading in waves. The intensity of my need makes my knees weak.
“Hold on, old girl, we’re almost there.”
My hips are jerking. I’m making incoherent sounds. Maggie brushes her lips against my neck and runs her tongue up my jaw. My climax teeters on the brink. She growls her satisfaction as she strokes in and out, faster, harder. Her fingers curl upward and I explode, plummeting over the edge. Sensations radiate from my toes, while a sheen of sweat coats my skin. Maggie clutches me tight with her free arm, keeping me upright.
My head drops down to her shoulder as my body continues to convulse. “Wow.”
Maggie laughs softly and slowly slips from within. She runs her wet fingers up my center and wipes them across my stomach. “You earned it.”
I look into her eyes, and see the love we’ve shared for what seems forever. “How so?”
She runs her hand down the front of my jeans and cups me. “Well, I did leave you high and dry in the shower this morning.”
I grin at the memory. “I know, but I had a very tasty treat, so it was worth running out of time.”
“We almost drowned, you fool.”
“Technically you can’t drown in a shower.”
Maggie gives me the look. It’s something all wives possess the skill to use when called for. I swear it was in a manual I’ve never received. “Uh huh.”
We turn to see the filly asleep in the hay as Moon nibbles on some oats. Maggie smiles, turns to me, and gives me a quick hug. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yup, but not as beautiful as you.” I give her a quick kiss on the lips and pull her toward the stall across the way.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I arch my brow. “I would think that’s evident.” Across the aisle, I lay her down on the blanket we had spread out so many hours earlier.
“Ohh.”
I open her jeans, and pull them and her panties down in one motion. “You going to scream for me tonight, Mags?”
She smiles, leaning up on her elbows. “Let’s see what you’ve got, old woman.”
I lower myself between her legs. “I can’t wait to show you.”
THE ADVENTURES OF A LESBIAN COWBOY
Teresa Wymore
Wherein Mr. Charlie Bluff Captures a Murderer in Rawlins and Earns the Favors of Miss Pretty Delaney.
On the wall of the stable hung coal shovels, a hayfork, and rakes. A large drill with a broken bit had a thick cobweb holding it to the wall. The brichen of a harness hung in disuse, its leather cracked and peeling. Sticks and considerable stones littered the ground near the door. My mind tried to fashion everything I saw as if I were a cobbler for feminine pleasure. Nothing seemed right. Not until I noticed the tip of a dusty milk bottle peeking from under a horse stall.
I snatched up the empty quart of Whiteman’s Cream Line and wiped the open end across my shirt. The tin bail-top lid had been snapped off, and the wide glass neck was smooth.
Miss Jinny had been craning her neck to watch me, her arms braced against the stall, her cotton drawers bunched at her ankles, and her bare ass high in the air. “What do you plan to do with that, Mr. Cortland?”
After pushing her dress farther back, I rolled the bottle’s texture of embossed words and rings around her skin. “I aim to screw you with it, Miss Jinny.”
Her eyes roamed down my body to my trousers. “Why not use what God Almighty has given you?”
I rubbed the bulge and smiled, reluctant to confess that the Good Lord had blessed me with ambition and a steady gun hand such as proper society allows no woman. The sausage that I had planned to eat for lunch slipped down my trouser leg, so I leaned forward to distract Miss Jinny. “Or maybe you need a lickin’?”
When her eyes widened, I dropped to my knees and tongued her furry slit until she was so spent of pleasure that she lay breathless in the hay. With panting words, she asked, “How long will you be staying, Mr. Cortland?”
I set my hat on my head and adjusted the sausage. “A day. Two.”
“Why then, I’d be pleased to see you again when you saddle up your horse.” I stayed mum, so she added, “
I’m sure I could convince Daddy to discount you a quarter for the help you gave fixing the busted stall.”
I glanced at the stall she had finished nailing before I arrived. Then I winked and left.
Five years ago in Kansas City, Sealy McGuill killed my horse and used her as bait to poison wolves. But that wasn’t why I was in Rawlins, although finding McGuill here and the unexpected benefit of tasting his randy daughter went a long way to paying the debt for Skinny Gin. No, I was in Rawlins because the machinists of the Union Pacific railway went to strike, and the unionists took every chance to beat the devil out of the immigrant scabs hired to replace them. Such beatings required men of low character, which is why I knew I’d find my man, Bill “Jackjaw” Bivens, in Rawlins.
The panic of ’83 had scared the railway into bankruptcy, so now the high officials had to fight towns looking to make favorable contracts, corrupt politicians looking for votes, and unionists looking to start a war. The town marshal was in with the union, looking the other way whenever the anarchists took to killing scabs. Bodies had been washing up along the river for months.
That’s where I came in. My name of late is “Charlie Bluff” and I work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. I had come to the rowdy little town to get in with the unionists and find Jackjaw, who was wanted for rustling, theft, and murder.
So, after partaking of Miss Jinny’s hospitality, I walked through town, where the marshal stopped me and fined me $10 for carrying a pistol. He also confiscated my Colt 45. That left me with a good story for the Capital Saloon, where I complained to anyone who would listen and went by the name of “Decker Cortland.” After hurrahing it up pretty good, I put out that I had been peddling whiskey to the tribes in Alaska after working a goldmine where I was sent away for smuggling. I wanted men to get thinking I still had that swag somewhere.
A few unsavory types came sniffing around, asking questions and offering drinks. These low characters filled me in on the union bosses who had hired all manner of men for their dirty work. I set out following one of the brutes but met up with Proster Dun. He was a machinist with a wife and baby who had left the line when the union told him to, but I could tell he wasn’t content to ride out the strike. When I met him outside the saloon, he was pacing.