Horse Pens 40

She looked back over her shoulder and sighed. 'A wench's job is never done. Thank you for the company and for the food Papa Dan." She took a bite and made purring sounds as she chewed and then made a show of swallowing that threatened to lift my kilt again. "I'll gnaw on our meat as often as you give it to me."

When Vickie leaned in and placed a slightly poultry-smelling kiss on my cheek I didn't mind. But then I expect I already smell like that anyway. I watched her ass make her short, bright blue skirt twitch as she walked over to join her two friends in fleecing a pair of college-aged tourists to this medieval lifestyle. As I saw them kissing the young men with enthusiasm I kind of wished I was again the age of those two boys. If I was I wouldn't be standing there, like they were, doing no more than watching three of the hottest pieces of ass simply walk away, that's for sure. Nope, even when I was that young I was never that dumb. Wiping the red lipstick from my cheek on a paper towel, I had to ponder how old and dumb I was now though. A part of me had enjoyed the company of that young girl ... young woman, Dan. Hell, just cause you've gotten a gray pubic hair doesn't make every woman under twenty-five a girl. I looked down at the beer bottle in my hand, seriously thinking back to when I was that young myself. Yeah, come to think of it I probably was that dumb.

I tossed the dregs into the trashcan and went back to my cooking.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

"Well they raised up a son who could eat up his weight in groceries ..." Puttering through the last tasks of the day, I was singing to myself in what I considered a soft tone. "... named him after a man of the cloth ..."

"Dan, you are two seconds and one more song away from getting stoned to death with my spring rolls." And then a small pebble hit me in the back. I turned to look at Joe, the sword guy. But it was that damn jester BoBo standing next to Joe's tent, and he was bouncing another small stone in his palm.

"Leviticus 24:27," he said with a grin. "A man or a woman who is a medium or a necromancer shall surely be put to death. They shall be stoned with stones; their blood shall be upon them." He looked over at Joe. "You're my witness right, Joe? He was clearly trying to cast some sort of evil spell with that foul mumbling-in-tongues he was doing. Evil turkey man!"

Reaching over to the wood rod that propped open my smoker hood, I took the heat blacked dowel rod in hand and gave it a flex. Then a swish through the air. "Going to be one of those kind of Ren Faires, I see." I started towards the motley wearing jester.

"Ah, ah ha!" He dropped the stone in his hands, hopped away a few feet and grinned at me. "Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, my legs are longer though to run away!"

Before I could take ten steps he was halfway across the campgrounds. I stopped and sighed when I heard him blow that damn horn of his in mockery. Galen stepped up next to me and bumped my elbow.

"Is our dear Bobo getting under your turkey skin there, Dan?"

Turning my head, I looked at the old druid. Then up at the leather dragon "hat" he was wearing. His white beard and those eyes, behind his round, rose-colored sunglasses, were a merry twinkle that put me, as always, in the mind of Santa Claus.

"I think I'm going to have to kill me a fool before this weekend is over," I said in warning.

"Well, that skinny one you have to catch first, turkey man. And this old one is too well padded to care about little sticks." He gave his butt a wiggle. "But please, Dan. No more singing. You're curling my spring rolls into doughnuts."

As Galen walked back to his tent, I twitched my mustache a moment, considering popping that ample backside with the smoke-covered rod. Joe saw the look on my face and instantly began nodding, silently begging me to do it, his hands in prayer while grinning like an idiot, for me to do it. I waved the dowel rod at him instead. Joe picked up one of his rapiers and struck an en garde pose.

That pose got his butt pinched by the lady behind him. Sweet Marie, another merchant who sells leather drinking horns from her tables on the other side of his tent. I gave Marie a nod of my head. She gave me a grinning smile then winked.

I went back to cleaning up and shutting down the cooker for the night and singing to myself.

"Named him after a man of the cloth ... called him Amos Moses."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Off in the dark there was a lute playing, and in the further distance someone was drumming. From Joe's tent nearby I could hear some sort of soft rock from his radio, and Galen was already snoring to scare a bear out of hibernation.

My cooker was cold, the food wrapped and put away for tomorrow's early lunch crowds. A mug, one of Marie's leather goblets, but a much older style than the ones she now sold, filled with a strong mix of Knob Creek bourbon and Coke. Part of me, the part that still thinks I'm a young man, wants to get up and go wander the site. Visit the little parties going on in camp sites. Talk to old friends, maybe make a few new ones along the way.

But the tired old man, who spent the day cooking for hundreds, just wanted to sit. Old friends knew where I was and they were not seeking me out. But then, more than a few no longer could, I thought as I took a sip so strong it was almost bitter. Memories of friends, other merchants from the Renaissance circuit, some who had been people I knew well, now gone. Oh, there were a few that simply hung it up. Gave up on the constant travel madness that is this crazy job. The never-ending crowds, the constant hassles from site owners, the madness of high booth rental fees for a piece of land in the middle of a town park, a country fair grounds, or like this place, privately owned land. The travel cost, the work of getting everything to site and then having to leave and get something that was forgotten.

They just got tired ... of the bullshit.

And some died. Those were always tough to hear about since we only found out through the rumor mill. It was always a rude surprise to a simple question. "Is so-and-so going to show up?" "Oh, you didn't hear? They died two months back."

Because of that the idea of making new friends was not as appealing as it had once been.

"Want some company?"

Looking up through bourbon-buzzed eyes, I smiled to see Vickie, no longer in her "wenching" garb, but now wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Gone was the overly done makeup and the lipstick in layers so thick it's a crime in some states. My gaze followed her soft curves, taking in the things that the heavier clothes she wore earlier hid, and looking for the things they showed off. She was not as "top heavy" as her bodice made her out to be. Vickie was in fact a beautifully proportioned woman. And devoid of the makeup, quite a lovely girl. Lovely young girl.

"On a night like this? You can't seriously tell me you've got nothing better to do with your time then spend it with an old turkey leg man?" I laughed, making the comment a joke, even though I didn't think it too funny my damn-self.

"Maybe I like leg men." She grinned and held up the little cooler she had been carrying earlier today. "Can I offer you another beer, Dan?"

"Thank you, but I've moved on to bourbon and Coke." I gave her figure another covert looking over then waved my hand to the folding chair opposite me. "Please, feel free to have a seat."

"Thanks." When she set the cooler down next to my chair and slid into my lap you could have pushed me over with a turkey feather.

"Ah ... Vickie?" I was about to ask her what she was doing but then she squirmed her ass on my lap and settled herself into my chest. Her head resting by my chin, nose turned into the open neck of my shirt. Her cheek lay against my chest.

"Now this is cozy," she said her voice half-purr.

There have been moments in my life when I didn't know what to do. Finding myself with a twenty-something year old girl I've barely talked to in my lap curled up on me like she's a cat. Yeah, that moved into that category rather quickly. When her hands wrapped around me and she held herself tight to me, I was even more at a loss. Then I noticed the way she smelled. Unable to help myself I buried my nose in her hair, breathing in the sweet smell of this young woman. All perfumed shampoos, mixed with that heavy hint of her own odor, and a light-sweat smell that made her so wonderfully feminine.

Her hands tightened more.

"Vickie?"

"Yes, Papa?"

My spine went ramrod straight as I heard the tone in her voice. Old memories flashed forward to brilliant clarity, sending ice-water down my back, killing any thoughts I had been having. I patted Vickie's hip. "Turn me loose there, girl."

She eased her grip on my ribs sitting up to look into my eyes. "What's wrong, Papa?"

How beautiful her eyes were. That thought distracted me for a moment then I frowned. Seeing in those eyes my own face reflected did not help. The "salt' in my "pepper" mustache was too evident given the nearby kerosene lights. Those glowed a silver white in her eyes.

"I'm not comfortable being called that. Not that way."

"But you call yourself Papa Dan?"

"Yes, I do." I picking up my drink and took a sip to wash down the sick taste that was trying to linger on my tongue. Old memories had regurgitated as bitter as bile. "But that's different. Tis only a silly nickname that just rhymed right to give me a nice sign. I don't care for being called papa like I'm some little girl's daddy."

She draped her arms around my neck and smiled. "But what if I want you to be my daddy, Papa Dan?"

Sitting back from her mouth that was about to kiss me, I took hold of her arms and moved them back from behind my head. I looked her square in the eyes. Any alcohol buzz was gone from me now. "I'm serious, Vickie. I'm not comfortable with that."

Her young face went through a half-dozen emotions as she took in my expression. Then she nodded. Pouted a little, and then gave me a sad smile. "Alright, Dan. I can accept that. But will you do me one thing?"

"What?"

"Will you tell me why? Not too many guys will turn down a young lady, in their lap, wanting to call them daddy and papa." She began to take a sip of her beer then moved it over to my glass and touched the side with a pleasant chink. "Please?"

My gorge wanted to rise as I thought of those half-buried memories. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, more painful than a simple sigh, but not enough to make old memories vanish.

"There was this gal, back when I was in my mid-thirties, I hooked up with for a few months. Daphne ..." I thought about it for a second. "Can't say I recall her last name; I've had a bit too much to drink already. It's not important. She had this thing she liked to do. She wanted me to call her my Little Girl and she wanted to call me Daddy ... while we was in bed you understand."

Vickie nodded then smiled a half smile. "That's not too uncommon, Dan. Lots of girls have a daddy fetish."

"Yeah, but most of them didn't spend half of their childhood being molested by their fathers." I nodded at her wide eyes. "Yeah. After we split up, I had a talk with someone that knew her for a lot longer than I had. They knew about her past." A sip of my drink. "When they caught her father in the act, she begged them not to take her Daddy away. That she was his wife and loved him so much. They put her in foster care, but she ran away, tried to get to see him."

"Wow," Vickie said in a breathy whisper.

"Yeah ... wow." I took a deep breath. "When she and I met, I didn't know any of this. She was cute, sweet as hell, sexy as sin, a little wild. Hell, I knew what her nipples looked like within fifteen minute of meeting her. She flashed me. Anyway, we dated. Simple things. Dinner, drinks at a bar. We ended up back at my place one night. It was pretty awesome. She was like a tiger in bed, all teeth and nails. Liked everything under the sun. Any kink I had ever even thought about, she was game to try."

Vickie grinned at me, then smirked and gave me a wink. It sent a cold shiver of memory down my spine that I had to ignore. I had to ignore it because, given how reluctant I had been to start this tale, now it poured form my lips like water over a swollen dam.

"After about our third time together she asked me to do something for her. She said it made her happy when guys would do it for her. Hell, by then I was already half in love with Daphne, so sure. If she wants to be called Little Girl, why not? She was letting me do whatever I wanted to do to her." I shrugged, half-embarrassed by this conversation. "Then came the Daddy stuff, and I was still okay with that. Again, why not."

"Why did you break up with her? She sounds like the perfect girl. Horny, kinky and willing to play."

"That's the nail on the head. She liked to play. Mind games. Daphne started to do weird things. Looking back on it I understand. She was trying to make me into her father. He was in prison--hell probably still is--so she was trying to recreate him. Make me be her daddy, wanted me to treat her like her actual father had treated her. Like she was still a little girl. A very little girl."

"That's ... sick."

"Yeah." I agreed. "Anyway, she got angrier and angrier at me for not being 'like' him. Not that I understood what was going on. To me, she was just suddenly mad at me. We began to argue over everything, she began to play a lot of head games, ask me a lot of odd questions. Then the sex began to get weirder than anything I had ever thought about doing, and finally it came to a head one night in bed."

"What happened?" she asked when I stopped talking. "Dan?"

"It was a sick twisted night, Vickie, and I would rather not talk about it." After a moment she nodded and I continued. "Anyway, the next day, I asked her to get her stuff and leave as soon as she could find a place to go. She basically collapsed. Shut down like a switch had been thrown. Her strings cut. Scared me to death, I'll tell you. I called someone that knew her; he made a phone call and some people showed up to pick her up." I scratched at the stubble on my cheek. "You know 'the nice young men, in the clean white coats' kind of people. Turns out she had been off her meds for months. I've managed to talk to her only once since then. On the phone. Let's just say, I'm probably lucky to be alive, given the hate she has for me now. She said I had betrayed her. That I had abandoned my daughter ... again. Yeah, by then she was convinced I was her father. Feeling sick, I hung up and have never tried to talk to Daphne again. Don't know where she is now."

"Wow."

"Yeah." I took a deep breath and then a long drink, finishing my mug. "So since then that whole Daddy thing has squicked me, badly."

"Understandably." Vickie finished the last of her beer, and then let the bottle roll on her bottom lip. She blew a hollow whistle across the bottle. "But Dan ... I'm not like that. No incest skeletons in my closet, just a harmless fetish." She reached between her thighs and placed her hand on my cock, making me startle up. She smiled and leaned in by my ear. "But, like her, I'm willing to let you do anything you like to me. I enjoy everything."

Her voice was all velvet and just by my ear it was enough to give me shivers.

"Vickie ..."

"Dan, I am drunk. And I am horny. I'm no little girl, but I love older men." Her mouth moved to right by my lips. "And I've been wet all day, from kissing all those guys. Please, Papa Dan don't make me beg you to help me to cum."

What was that about offers you can't refuse? I know I heard something about them somewhere. Well, that was certainly one of those. I had barely nodded when her lips crashed into mine, hard, hot and wet. Tasting of beer. Then she was squirming around on my lap, her legs going quickly in impossible directions till I somehow found myself straddled and being driven back into my chair by the force of her mouth, her hand pulling my head deeper into the kiss. I let my hands do what they wanted and they cupped the cheeks of her ass under the fringed bottom of her cutoff shorts. My pinky ran along the seam of her panties as I kissed her, attacking her tongue with my own when she pushed it between my lips.

She squirmed and that little finger slipped under that cotton seam to ride right on the edge of her outer lips. She moaned into my mouth. Then her body lifted and the cloth went slack.

"Put a finger in, Papa. Please."

Before I could protest the Papathing again, she was again kissing me fiercely. Then my finger met slick, wet skin, and I forgot what I was going to protest. First my pinky, then my ring finger slipped along those tender nether lips and slipped within the silky wet heat of her. She gripped those fingers with an inner contracting of her muscles. Something that promised tightness and youthfully sexual appetite for pleasures I have not enjoyed in far too long.

Then she was kissing the side of my neck, nuzzling the places where my stubble meets my bare skin, and then Vickie was by my ear, her voice a tender puff of air.

"Take me to bed, Papa." She kissed my earlobe. "Let me give you some good memories."

When I was twenty, I would have stood up, with her weight in my arms like it was nothing, and carried her, with her legs wrapped around my back, to the tent that draped off one side of my van. Never once would I have stopped kissing her while we got into the tent and to the van door. Opened the door, and placed her on my bed, doing all of that in a "Me Tarzan, you Jane" display of male machismo.

But now, in my fifties, I have more respect for my back, and given the fact I was already about to be pushing it to the limits in the next few hours, I let her stand up, and then put my arm around her ash she tucked herself under my arm. I led her to the tent and open the flap leading into the storage area I used, beside the Econoline van. I slid open the long panel door showing her the folded down, futon-size, bed I slept on at Ren Faires. For two it was going to be on the cozy side, but not too badly crowded. She slipped off her flip flop shoes and crawled onto the mattress, that denim-clad ass on fine display, and then leaning back against the pillows on the side of the van she smiled at me and made a come here motion with one finger.

"Give me a second," I said, putting my toe to my heel and slipping my boots off one by one. Then I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it towards the driver seat. Vickie smiled in appreciation as I slowly stripped.

"More," she said, and then pulled her t-shirt off in a rush. Her hands went around her back and the bra popped loose. "Show me more, please."

I chuckled. "I ain't no Chippendales dancer, lovely. But I'll do what I can."

She smiled when I made a show of undoing my belt and then the snaps on my jeans, letting one pop after another. She watched the zipper lower with eyebrows climbing. When the lack of underwear became apparent, she grinned and made a low appreciative whistle that was Viagra to my ego.

"Nice cock." She got up onto her knees. "My turn, I guess, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice hoarse with growing desire choking me as I saw her body in better light. "Damn girl, you're beautiful."

"Thank you, Papa." She slipped the button of her jean shorts through the stitched loop and then slid the zipper down an inch at a time. Bare lower belly, then white cotton, low-ride panties appeared. When she slid hooked her thumbs in those and her ass out of them and leaned back onto the bed with her tanned legs going towards the ceiling I moved forwards.

Catching the back of her knees, I smiled at her gasp even as I began to kiss the backs of her thighs. Lower and lower.