Rattlesnake Cantina Girl Ch. 02

I was only able to keep a part of my mind on our conversation, and we had lots of fun talking. He thought about the things I said instead of dismissing them or not really paying attention, and he gave me lots of awesome encouragement for having the guts to leave my husband and go back to school. And he told stories. Good stories from his childhood and his times at college. I really love a man who can tell me stories and doesn't just sit there listening to me carry the conversational ball. It made me feel close to him in a way that my pussy would never understand.

But every time I looked over at him I wanted to drop my head in his lap and give him a really good blowjob. It wasn't fair that I couldn't, I thought. Isn't that what all men dream of, a good blowjob while they're driving? It had been far too long since I'd felt a cock in my mouth. Besides, I was dying to see it. I could tell it was big, I just couldn't tell how big through those damned jeans.

I suddenly realized that Ethan wasn't talking any more. I looked at his face and realized that he'd been watching me look at his crotch. He looked down at his lap, pretending surprise. "What are you looking at?" he said.

I guess I was too embarrassed at being caught to choose my word carefully enough, and I hastily took an interest in the gorgeous rocks over the river. "Nothing."

"That's not nothing," he said, pretending to act all insulted. His voice took on a pleading tone. "Rumball, tell her it's not nothing." Rumball obediently barked and we both broke out laughing. But Ethan wasn't blushing like I was.

Gosh, everything this man did made me feel closer to him. I felt the blood rushing to my pussy, carrying extra heat and fuel to a fire that didn't really need it. I realized that I'd been sitting there for most of the drive with my knees apart, a silent plea from my slit for Ethan's attention, his cock. It wouldn't do at all to ooze so much girl juice that it soaked through my panties and skirt and found its way onto Ethan's leather seats. I may not know much, but I know that men don't like girl cum spots on their new leather truck seats. I giggled to myself at the image of him getting mad at me over cum spots, and I shut my legs to try and stem the trickle.

I sneaked another peak at Ethan, and this time I managed to avoid looking at his lap. His hand was resting on the steering wheel while he casually drove down the scenic road. He was so masculine, so confident of himself. I couldn't stop smiling. My pussy obviously wanted him – no surprise there. It wanted just about any guy who was cute and halfway intelligent. The surprise was that my mind did too. He fit so well into my preconceived notion of the kind of man I'd wanted for years that I had no hope at all of resisting.

The trouble was that in my B.C. days I had a problem becoming obsessed with boys, and I wasn't sure that I had put that problem behind me. It was a danger I had learned to live with, if not avoid all of the time. It seemed like every new beau had something different to offer, something that only he had that would satisfy one of my multitudinous cravings. I caromed from crisis to crisis, from boy to boy, never catching the one who met all of my needs and not all sure that I'd even recognize him even if I did.

I didn't have sex with them all, not even close. Pretty often my infatuations only lasted through a date or two, and sometimes even less. My imagination could take a snippet of some guy I'd just met and construct a whole new lover for me, using the things that attracted me to him and adding the necessary finishing touches to create the perfect man to fuck me while I played with myself. But occasionally my crushes would lead me to a new bed, smiling and happy that someone new wanted me, certain that this time the possibility for true love was knocking on the door. The cravings of my pussy kept rushing me into relationships before my heart and mind were ready. And sometimes I'd let boys into my pants without making sure that they could really love me first. It was something I had learned to watch out for, a temptation that had less to do with the constant pleadings of my pussy than the weakness of my character.

I had thought it was all behind me when I met the man who would become my husband.

At first I was just smitten with him like I had been with so many others. But Connor stood out from the crowd. He was different, better. His strength and ability to take care of me were seductive in a way that none of my other boy-toys had ever matched. Connor was so strong and capable that I had overlooked things that I shouldn't have. He enjoyed being in charge, taking care of me and us. It seemed like he was the solution to all of my longings. He was so infatuated with me and it was a perfect match – he needed someone to care for and I needed someone to keep me safe. We were in love and everything else was going to be all right.

The problem with our marriage was that it never felt personal. After a year or so I felt like I could have been replaced by any girl my age. As far as Connor went, as long as he had a wife he was happy. How she felt and what she wanted became almost irrelevant to him as time went by. He wasn't going to waste his time having a conversation with me. He wasn't going to get up off the sofa to spend time with me, or bother to plan an evening out. Connor told me that he loved me, but he never did understand that he wasn't giving me enough of himself to make me happy.

But for me the bedroom was the real problem. The eagerness with which he took me when we were first married slowly vanished, and there was nothing else to take its place. Connor's bedroom behavior, which was never exactly exciting, became self serving rather than selfless. And the less Connor had to give me, the more I wanted. I wanted more abandon, more wildness. I wanted him to beg to watch me play with myself. I wanted him to tie me up, spank me and take me over my crying protests. I wanted him ask me to dress up like a schoolgirl in pigtails and a plaid skirt so he could give me my first lesson in sex.

But Connor never wanted any of those things. And whenever I suggested them I could see the distaste on his face. My husband had no desire to spice up our lovemaking, no matter how much I pleaded or cajoled. His excuses were wan and insubstantial, and through their transparency I could see his growing impatience with a wife he didn't understand. I didn't quite understand it myself. I only knew that the gaping hole my heart and pussy were carving into me weren't going to be filled by Connor.

And here I was A.D., driving off with a new man, my pussy screaming for attention while I wondered if my tendency to become infatuated too soon had returned from the sabbatical my marriage had forced on it. I was becoming obsessed with the handsome cowboy beside me, a silly schoolgirl with her first crush. Any minute now I was going to grab my diary and start writing Mrs. Shelley Russell over and over to see how it looked. But was it real this time, or were the cravings between my legs leading me astray again?

Ethan drove us up to the Poudre River Canyon, a picturesque drive along a gently winding road that parallels the Poudre River. The evening was warm and the air was clear and bright. With the windows down we could smell the water and the fragrant summer greenery. Sometimes I could see the river flowing beside us, and other times I could hear it purling and burbling just out of sight as we drove along, hidden by the green trees and bushes that grew in profusion along the bottom of the canyon. The scenery was the perfect complement to my mood, and my hopes for romance.

My reverie was broken when Ethan pulled over and parked at a turnaround in the road. He said, "This is where Rumball gets out."

I looked behind the seat, and sure enough the dog seemed to know where we were – his tail was wagging and he nosed Ethan's door anxiously.

"You're just going to let him out at the side of the road?" I asked.

"Oh, he knows where he is. Our place is just over the top of the rise, there." Ethan popped his door open and Rumball jumped out and bounded up the hill without a backward glance, a canine with a purpose.

"I thought he was going with us," I said, pouting.

Ethan laughed. "To a restaurant? As much as Mac likes him, there are health regulations, you know." He pulled his door shut and pulled the truck back onto the road.

"Bye, Rumball," I said to his back as he scrambled up the side of the canyon.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll get to see you again," Ethan said.

"And Midori, too," I said.

"Yep. Definitely Midori. And Lassie and Rin-Tin-Tin and Toto, too, if he wants too. But I think he's holding out for Midori. Did you see his eyes light up when you talked about her?"

I laughed, but I didn't tell him I didn't know who Rin-Tin-Tin was. I mean, I was sure he was a famous dog, but he had probably been famous before my time. And I didn't want Ethan thinking we were from different eras or something.

Another fifteen minutes of driving up the canyon Ethan pulled into a small restaurant that was backed up against the river. Mac's Steak House was a nestled on the side of the road in a little copse of trees. It was possibly the cutest restaurant I'd ever seen, a charming little place that could easily have been a bed-and-breakfast, perfect for romantic getaways.

The inside was as quaint as the outside, with sort of a western steak house meets Italian decor. There weren't a lot of tables and the place was almost full with couples and a smattering of families.

Mac himself greeted Ethan like an old friend. "Ethan! Long time no see. I'm glad you called ahead, because we got busy tonight. You're table's right over here." Talking merrily about the menu and his wife he led us to a table with a checkered tablecloth nestled in a corner. I was tickled that Ethan had made a reservation. That was the kind of planning ahead that I could never coax Connor into doing for me. I may have been silly for thinking this way, but I interpreted it to mean that I was in Ethan's thoughts even when I wasn't in his presence.

My cowboy pulled out the chair for me and then took the seat next to mine, saying, "I hope you don't mind if I want to sit close to you?"

I giggled. Of course not! I patted the chair next to me, remembering how we'd met last night. "Put 'er there, cowboy," I said.

Maybe I could drop my fork in his lap and reach down to grab it and 'accidentally' fondle him. I was at my old tricks – more uninhibited in my imagination than I could ever be for real.

Ethan ordered beer just like he had last night. I decided to go for something a little girly and ordered a mudslide – Bailey's with chocolate and whipped cream. Booze, chocolate, a cozy restaurant and the man of my dreams looking in my eyes. I was in heaven.

"Do you ever drink anything besides beer?" I asked while we waited for the drinks to arrive.

"It's better than a frou-frou drink like a Mudslide. Besides, beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy," he said loftily.

I laughed. "Sounds like an excuse to drink dreamed up by someone who'd had a few too many."

He chuckled and my wet slit vibrated in sympathy. "No. That was written by Ben Franklin, the only person to sign all four founding documents of our country."

"OK, OK," I said, giggling. "I already apologized for testing you last night. You're smart, OK? I was just wondering if you always drink beer."

"Yep, that's me. Beer drinker, hell raiser, dirty old man."

A girl could only hope, I thought to myself. Actually I thought it was kind of cute, a cowboy and his beer, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

The drinks came and we talked. Ethan looked in my eyes and even held my hand a little bit. I loved the focus of his attention, the certainty that all of it was for me. As for myself, I wasn't paying enough attention, at least not to my drink.

"You've got some....," Ethan said, motioning to a spot at the corner of his mouth. I realized that I'd gotten some whipped cream on my mouth and I picked up my napkin to wipe it away. But before I got it to my mouth Ethan gently caught my wrist and stopped me.

"Allow me," he said. Ethan leaned forward and kissed the whipped cream away. I tried to hold still and resist the impulse to turn and catch his lips with mine. It was hard. Somehow this was even more intimate than our kisses last night, the kind of pampering that only a boy and girl who were already lovers would indulge. I blushed and managed to whisper, "Thank you."

I wanted it to happen again, to feel his lips on mine, the heat of our romance growing under the rich mulch of his teasing kisses. I tried to think up a way to get more whipped cream on my face, but I came up empty.

We laughed at Mac's insistence that we would never eat a better steak in our lives when he brought them to our table. I was reaching for my fork when Ethan stayed my hand so the he could give me a quick kiss, this time right on my lips. I was floating on the attention, the potent promise of more to come. My pussy liked it too.

It turned out that Mac was right - the steaks were so tender that all you had to do was threaten them with a fork and they'd fall apart.

"Gosh, this is delicious," I said.

"Well, it helps to have access to the best beef," Ethan said. "Mac's been here for years, and he gets his meat-on-the-hoof straight from some of the nearby ranchers."

As we started to eat I realized that I felt more comfortable with this man than I'd ever felt with any other. Well, comfortable except for my pussy, which regularly sent little shivers through me so that I wouldn't forget what she wanted. I needed to distract her, and so I asked Ethan to tell me an embarrassing story.

"What?"

"A story. Something that happened to you that you're embarrassed about now."

Ethan gave me a stern look. "And what makes you think you're entitled to that, Miss Shelley?"

I giggled. "I'm not asking for Watergate, here. I don't know what I'm looking for. Maybe something that happened when you were little?"

Ethan thought for a minute and then started talking, his voice that of a natural born storyteller. I was in heaven listening to him and looking at him while I ate my delicious steak, and I wanted to listen to him tell stories forever. Ethan told me about going fishing with his dad when he was little. His father had been trying to catch a big salmon on their annual vacation to the Green River unsuccessfully for years. One year Ethan had been the one who caught a seven pounder just around the bend from where his father was fishing.

"I really wanted for my dad to be the one to catch it. I was about eight and I'd just figured out that my dad had dreams of his own, things he wanted from life that had nothing at all to do with me. I was at that age where you begin to realize that just being a grown up doesn't get you everything you want after all."

Suddenly Ethan stopped talking in the middle of his story and leaned over to give me a kiss, as if the urge was so strong that he couldn't help himself. "Sorry," he said as he leaned back and carved a bite from his steak. "You're just so damned cute I couldn't help myself. I needed your kiss," he said matter-of-factly, as if I was his water glass and he'd taken a sip from me so that he could keep on talking. He didn't notice how that kiss made me swoon, and he went on talking.

"Anyway, I thought I'd sneak into the water downstream from Dad's line and hook my fish to it while he wasn't looking, so he could catch his salmon."

I giggled at the impossibility of an eight year old trying to do something like that for his father, and my heart went all squishy with how thoughtful the man in front of me was.

Ethan raised his eyebrow at my laugh, pretending that he couldn't understand why I wasn't taking his story seriously.

"I took the salmon in my hand and tried very hard to wade out to his line when he wasn't looking, but it was harder than I though it would be. He was looking around the river while he fished, and I knew that sooner or later he'd see me. I finally decided that there was no way I could do it by wading. So I took a deep breath and ducked under the water and tried to swim in the direction of his line. Of course I ran out of air and burst to the surface with a huge splash. Suddenly there I was, standing in the water, dripping wet and holding a huge dead salmon in my arms."

"Oh, my," I said, laughing so hard it brought tears to my eyes.

"Yep. I was all embarrassed, and I had to fess up. He laughed so hard I thought he was going to make himself sick." Ethan took a bite of his steak. "To this day I don't know which of us was more embarrassed – me for trying to fool Dad or him for not catching the fish. To his credit, he didn't tell a soul about it for years until I was all grown up. Of course, it's one of his favorite stories, now."

"He sounds like a swell guy."

"Yeah, Dad's pretty cool."

He leaned over and gave me another quick kiss on the lips. It was almost too much stimulation – the romance of the evening, a cowboy telling me stories, his unswerving attention, the delicious steak, little kisses with his masculine lips.

As the evening went on the kisses kept coming, interspersed with laughter and conversation. Their effect was cumulative, each one adding to the heat, fueling my fire. It was a gradual build, unlike the roller coaster ride of last night in the bar. But the destination was the same – a soppy pussy and a needy Shelley.

I tried to ignore the heat he was causing. – I felt like if I'd had a raw steak I could put it between my legs and grill it right there, and I was afraid that I was going to leave a spot in Mac's chair. But I loved every minute of it.

Our dinner was long and sensual, perfectly seasoned with intimate conversation and occasional dirty double entendres. I was amazed at my newfound ability to balance my ready horniness with the other rewards of a quiet night out with a hot cowboy.

"Compliments of the house," Mac said, putting a bowl of succulent strawberries and a little fondue pot of melted white chocolate on the table in front of us.

"You don't have to do that," Ethan said to Mac.

"I insist. Enjoy," Mac said, smiling at me. Then he bustled back towards the kitchen.

"That was nice," I said.

"Yep. Mac's a great guy."

Looking at the strawberries I got so excited I could hardly stand it; the memory of a dirty story I'd read online swirled dangerously with the reality before me. The story was about a man who'd taken his sister to a restaurant, cuffed her hands together under the table and then fed her strawberries before he fucked her silly. It had gotten me so hot I'd had to take off my jeans and masturbate right then and there in front of my computer.

I knew that wouldn't happen here, though. Ethan may have been a rootin' tootin' cowboy, but he had no reason to have a pair of handcuffs with him. Unless maybe he was a sheriff.

I tried to picture him with a six-gun and a badge, and the thought made me giggle. Ethan looked at me questioningly while he searched through the bowl for the prettiest strawberry. He ceremoniously dipped it in the chocolate, leaned towards me and lifted it to my mouth.

"There you go, Miss Shelley," he said with a big smile on his face. "Just what a little buckle bunny needs – a little something sweet to suck on." Oh, this dirty old cowboy knew just exactly what thoughts were running through my mind, and I loved him for it.

I felt giddy and lost and unbelievably happy. I tried not to look like I was pursing my lips around the end of his cock, but I failed miserably. I closed my eyes and gave in to my imagination, probing with my tongue for the little slit on the end, sucking gently with pursed lips, letting the warm liquid drip run down my chin. It was like he was cumming in my mouth, I could feel it. I was unceremoniously yanked back to the restaurant by Ethan's voice admonishing me.