Phoebe & the Desert Coyotes

The phone was ringing. It was so close to five that he thought about not answering, but instead he reached across the big mahogany desk and picked up the receiver. "Doug Zeitgeist," he said crisply.

"Hey, Doug, Harold Bailey here."

"Harold! Man, I haven't talked to you since you and Debbie split up. What's going on?"

"I, uh, well, I heard about what you and Phoebe did down in Tucson last month."

"Oh, man." Doug said after a long pause. "How did you hear about that?"

"Well, just as luck would have it, the guy that picked her up was my nephew, Phillip."

"Phil was her john?"

"Yep. When he and my sister came up for my divorce party, he saw the picture of the four of us at the swingers resort in St. Martens, and he recognized Phoebe. You know, she is really easy to remember."

"Yeah, I know. You, of all people, could not be shocked at our little game, so why are you calling?"

"Hell, no. The only thing that shocked me was that Debbie and I didn't think of it years ago."

"So, how is Deb now?"

"She seems happy up in Seattle with her boy toy."

"And you? How's the single life?"

"Some good, some bad. Actually, that is why I called, Doug."

"Why is that?"

Well.... I was wondering if you would be willing to rent Phoebe to me for a night."

"What? You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding, but let me tell you about it. You might find it interesting."

"I'm listening."

"I have a younger brother, named Billy, that you have never met. The family is kind of embarrassed about him, so he is never around. We were close when we were kids, but he never really grew up and took on any responsibilities."

"Does he live here in Phoenix?"

"Well, kind of. Actually he lives out in the Sonoran Desert somewhere between the White Canyon Wilderness and Florence. He never took a job in his life...just stays out there by himself. He comes to my house ever so often for a shower and clean clothes—shaves off all his hair and beard. He always leaves clean and comes back shaggy."

"What does he do for money?"

"My dad left all of us a little money, but he put Billy's in an endowment that sends him a small check every quarter. Just a few hundred bucks--not enough to live on, unless you pay no rent, have no car, no wife, no kids, and all that stuff."

"That is kind of interesting, Harold, but what does it have to do with Phoebe?"

"Well, the last time he came to town, Debbie had already taken off. I was loading him up with food and water, when we started talking about women, and he told me that he had only been laid once in his whole life! That was with some old whore in Nogales and he didn't like it--probably what made him a desert rat—anyway, that was nearly 20 years ago."

"So you want Phoebe to give him his first lay in 20 years, right? How do you know he can even get it up?"

"He can get it up alright. He told me that he jacks off 5 or 6 times a day. Everyday. Guess there's not much else for him to do."

"So why not drive him down Van Buren Street? There's plenty of pussy for sale there."

"Well, that brings me to the interesting part. Since he had no good experiences as a reference, I asked him what he thinks about when he jerks off. Instead of answering me, he started talking about his dog, which I've always thought was a different kind of dog 'cause it never barks, but I didn't know how different. Turns out this dog is half coyote. A few years ago, he had this big yellow mutt that he found walking down Route 85. When the bitch came in heat, the coyotes started coming around. The bitch was afraid of them, but her heat made her receptive, so she'd let them get up close enough to her to smell her, but when they tried to mount her, she'd turn on them. Since she was bigger, they couldn't get to her.

"Billy didn't like the coyotes tearing up his camp, so he staked her out in a wash on a bright night and sat where he could watch. He told me that a big buck coyote came up to her and when he saw that she was staked on a short rope, he acted plumb nuts...rolled around and rubbed his face on the ground, stuck his nose in her ass, licked her pussy—I don't reckon you can call a dog's twat a pussy, can you? Anyway, he went on like that for a while, and when he finally mounted her, she didn't resist anymore. The buck fucked her pretty fast then set to yipping and howling, and got all the coyotes for miles around singing. He jumped her a couple more times that night. The last time they got stuck together, and since the bitch was bigger the buck's hind feet couldn't touch the ground.

"Billy said he fell asleep and when he woke up the coyote was gone. The bitch had 5 pups and 3 of them died right away, and one died later. The dog he has now is the only one that lived, and he seems to be very healthy."

"This is a very interesting story, Harold, but what does it have to do with Phoebe?"

"It's Billy's fantasy, Doug. He wants to find a woman staked to a leash out in the wash, and he will be the buck coyote."

Doug thought about that for a minute and felt his cock growing. "We might do something like that. Let me think about it. Maybe I should talk to Phoebe."

"I think it would be better if you didn't tell her everything, Doug. That's why I asked to rent her for a night. It is a pretty strange scenario, but I think she'll enjoy it. I promise to bring her back without a scratch—good as new. Since you let her go with a stranger for $200, what I am asking is not such a big step. Just tell her that I am renting her for the night and that I am taking her to my brothers for a little party—just the three of us."

"Maybe. I'll think about it. There has to be one condition, though, I get to watch."

"Hmm. That will take some planning. It would be too complicated for Billy. Maybe I could arrange a spot where you could see what they're doing without anyone knowing you're there."

OK. If you'll do that, I'll rent her to you for a night. How much are you willing to pay?"

"A thousand dollars, and she stays all night."

"That's a lot of money for something we would probably do for nothing."

"I know, but the money is nothing to me, and I wanted Phoebe to feel like a high class hooker this time. Not like the cheap whore you had her pretend to be in Tucson."

"That was her idea."

"And also the money seals the deal. $1,000 for all night, Deal?"

"When?"

"Saturday after next is a full moon."

"OK, but for sure I gotta be able to watch in case your brother gets crazy and tries to hurt her."

"Billy would never hurt anybody, but I will agree so long as no one but me knows you are there. I'll meet you at your car in the parking garage in 15 minutes with the cash."

--0—

Doug didn't mention anything to Phoebe until the next Wednesday. Then all he told her was that he was planning a surprise for her on Saturday.

"I hope it doesn't involve sex, cause my period started today."

Thursday morning Doug called Harold to see if he wanted to postpone the date. Harold thought about it for a moment, and picturing the bitch in heat, decided that it was OK—even better. Besides, Doug thought, Phoebe has liked having sex during her period, except for the mess.

Harold continued: "I went out to see Billy yesterday. We talked it over and came up with a plan. He will be camped out in the desert south of Florence Junction. You know the Tom Mix Memorial on highway 79? Well, he can be found a ways off from there. When we are set up, I'll let him know she is ready. By the way, I told him to stop jerking off until then so he'll be extra horny.

"I'll pick up Phoebe Saturday afternoon at about four. Give us a head start then you come on out to the Tom Mix area, and park there. Walk south along the highway till you come to the little wash where old Tom wrecked his Cadillac, then drop down into the wash and go downstream until you get to where you see the little wash and the big Saltbush Wash merge. There's quite a bit of Mesquite, and Palo Verde growing around there, so it is pretty easy to see—but don't go up the Saltbush wash, because that's where we'll be. The banks are cut pretty steep there, so go up the south bank where the brush is thick and find a comfortable blind. You should be able to see way up the wash from there and I'll set Phoebe up in the middle of the wash, so you should be able to see everything. OK?"

"I haven't been out that way since they built the Interstate, but I remember that area as being pretty wild," Doug said.

"The city's growing out that way. But that is all Federal land, and not a park, so it will probably stay wild for a while. Most of the time Billy camps way off the road up toward the White Canyon Wilderness, but he keeps a little 'palapa' down by the highway where he stages supplies and water. I told him we would be near there."

-0-

"You're going to play like a high priced hooker this time," Doug said as he slowly spread out the ten $100 bills on the table that night.

"Wow, who gave you that?"

"Harold paid it for the pleasure of your company Saturday night. He wants you to party with him and his brother. I agreed, and he gave me the cash. Don't worry about your period. He considers that a bonus."

Phoebe raised her eyebrows, and then said, "Do I get to dress up?"

"Probably be better to wear something really casual that comes off easily."

--0—

Harold was on time when he picked up Phoebe in his new Hummer, which was already bashed and dirty. Doug marveled that anyone would pay sixty thousand dollars for something to crash around in the desert when an old pickup would work just as well. But Harold had the money and didn't give a damn about his stuff.

He was in a race with the sun and fidgeted nervously until Phoebe was ready. She looked great, of course, but it was kind of funny that she would take so long and appear wearing so little—just a miniature top with spaghetti straps that barely covered her small but well formed breasts, a short denim skirt that emphasized her firm and tanned legs, and sandals with only a few tiny straps on her pretty little feet.

It was late April and the days were nearly hot and the nights mild and dry. The desert was in full bloom from the winter rains. It promised to be another beautiful sunset with a few clouds scattered across the big sky. Harold would not notice any of it as he hurdled through the traffic and out of the city. The choreography would be spoiled if they were not in place to have the sunset lighting the scene.

When Doug got to the Tom Mix rest area, the sun was low in the sky, but still retained plenty of desert intensity. He parked his Cadillac behind the picnic tables and the covered ramada at the edge of the paved parking area. He was facing an old barbed wire fence that had been climbed so many times that no strands were tight and the lower two were lying in the powdery path where so many feet had trod. He briefly considered going into the desert the same way, but on closer scrutiny he could see that the path didn't really pick up on the other side. It was no more than a commonly used access to the desert where travelers could quickly piss and return to their journey on one of Arizona's picturesque blue line highways.

Instead, he followed Harold's instructions. But first he needed to check that he had packed all the necessities: a bottle of water and two beers in a six-pack cooler. He also had a small backpack with a poncho for ground cover, binoculars, a night visions scope, and his old Shofield .45 revolver with the seven and a half inch barrel. That barrel was always getting in the way, but he could generally hit what he was aiming at—long as it was not too far away. And whatever he hit got really messed up with those big slugs.

He had been driving in his socks, so he pulled on his high-legged western boots and stepped out of the car. Feeling the pockets of his camo jacket to be sure he had his keys before locking the doors. His once blond hair had turned a brilliant white requiring a camo cap that he adjusted by pulling the bill low to his eyebrows, and then he turned south and walked toward the wash.

The desert presented a formidable barrier of thorns and hostile flora struggling for the few extra drops of moisture that occasionally ran off the blacktop. So he skirted the edge of the park and walked next to the two-lane highway the short distance to the wash.

There was not an actual bridge over the wash just a series of culverts, and the easiest way into the wash was to jump the five feet or so into the center of the dusty dry streambed. There was a time when Doug would have taken a flying leap over the edge, but now he considered whether or not the drop was too much, and ended up sitting on the edge of a culvert and scooting off. The bed at the downstream spout of the culvert was a collection of pebbles and coarse sand. He landed easily and adjusted his glasses before moving down stream toward the setting sun.

In just a few minutes he was beyond any hint of civilization. He could no longer hear the highway or see any man-made structures. It had been years since he had walked in the desert, but he knew the dangers and moved cautiously.

A half-mile or so down the wash the unmistakable wide tracks of a hummer appeared dropping down from a desert track into the center of the wash and disappearing into the distance. There was no dust in the air and no smell of diesel, so he figured to be more than a few minutes behind them.

By the time Doug got to the convergence of the Saltbrush wash, he had long been able to see all the landmarks Harold had mentioned. Twenty yards before the Saltbrush wash he moved up the steep bank cut into the desert by the occasional flood. At the top of the bank he found a grove of Palo Verde heavy with green ripe bean pods.

He knew that this offered pleasant shade in the daylight, but when night falls this grove will be the garden market for desert rodents that will come by the dozens—and with them will come the snakes that eat the rats and mice. Rattlesnakes are never a problem unless you get too close, and then they'll give you a good warning—most of the time.

But for now it was a pleasant grove, and he pulled a few of the green pods from the lower branches and tasted their slight sweetness. There were only a few sounds: a desert wren in the distance, the soft breeze slipping through the branches, and the pleasant murmurs and giggles of a woman talking not too far away.

He set the six-pack cooler and his pack in the shade--but not near the trunk of the largest Palo Verde where the ants were busy working. He picked a few of the plumpest bean pods, chewed them slowly enjoying and spitting out the fibrous cud that remained. The slightly bitter aftertaste was a pleasant blend with the quietly opened Pacifico beer.

When the time seemed right he moved in a crouch toward the sound of his lovely Phoebe. He hadn't gone far when he spied Harold's Hummer across the Saltbrush wash in the shade of a pair of Desert Willows. It was no more than 50 yards across the small wash, and he could see them clearly. Harold was facing him. His thick black hair was combed straight back away from his bushy black eyebrows. His thick body was sitting uncomfortably on the ground in contrast to Phoebe's gracefully stretched body as she leaned against a picnic cooler.

He could hear them as well—actually he heard Phoebe who, as usual, was talking while Harold said nothing. She was telling some story about Debbie. Harold probably wished she would shut up.

Doug listened for a while then rolled onto his back to look at the desert vista. It was a pretty place Harold had chosen. The Saguaros were in bloom, and the banks of the wash were covered with bright yellow Brittlebush flowers dotted with red Desert Paintbrushes. But he knew that the desert's beauty was laced with thorns and poisons, and that care has to be taken with every step.

He selected a position behind a series of Cholla cacti with its glowing fuzz of jumping thorns. There were flat padded Prickly Pears on either side with plump purple fruit. Clumps of still green desert grasses that were growing close to the ground obscured him from every direction except from his rear. He was satisfied that he would be able to see almost all the Saltbrush wash through a visual tunnel through the underbrush to the south--and yet not be seen by either of the players.

Doug heard the clink of a wine bottle against a glass. He heard the tearing of paper. He heard Harold offer her something, which she enthusiastically accepted. Silence followed for a few minutes, then he heard her say, "I can feel it coming on now. Mmmm, I love this stuff."

Doug faced the sun as it dropped into the Estrella Mountains and the sky erupted into its display of golden pinks, roses and purples. Phoebe's voice became a murmur like a distant brook while he looked into the sky and thought about how he and Phoebe came to be here.

He called up memories of his first wife, who over the years of their marriage had managed to have sexual relations with almost all his friends and even some of his relatives before he found out about it. His rage of jealousy and betrayal ended their 20-year marriage—although now he understood her better.

After a span of years of living alone, having many sexual partners, and observing the lives of his colleagues, Doug came to the conclusion that most people cheat, and that especially attractive people cheat the most. So if you want an attractive wife, you should expect her to continue to attract men. He had resolved that since his next wife would be pretty and attract other men, he would not try to stop the inevitable, but participate in it by actively sharing her with men that he selected.

When he met Phoebe she was a young single mother. Although she was 30 she looked a frail and thin 25. She was more than 15 years younger than Doug, but she needed a protector.

Doug knew that she had been unfaithful to her first husband, because he had been among those who had sampled her forbidden pleasures. And he had not kidded himself to think that she would always be faithful to him either. He knew that younger men would be hitting on her, and that even happily married people sometimes get bored or lonely. So early in their relationship, when he knew that he really loved her, she promised to obey him and let him do anything to her. His demand was simple: if she truly belonged to him, then she was his to share.

With tears in her eyes, she said that she belonged to him, mind and body. He then began selecting, from time to time, those who would be allowed to give and take her pleasures.

At that time Doug was 45, at the peak of his strength and power, and surging with lusty energy. Phoebe became the focus of his sexual energy, while Doug became Phoebe's fatherly protector whom she willingly obeyed and called him "Master" in their quiet bedroom fantasies. Now their attributes have reversed. She was now 45 at the peak of her vitality, while he was 60 and growing weaker.

In the beginning Doug "kept" her in an apartment where he was a frequent visitor but when her child, grew older they moved into Doug's sprawling ranch house on the edge of the Superstition Mountains, and eventually they married.

In time the sexual excitement began to wane with the familiarity of daily routine, and in search for stimulating adventure they visited a swingers club over in Phoenix. As the aging process took effect on Doug, Phoebe's lusty desires for sexual gratification continued to grow. With both their children grown, swinging gave them the action they needed--and strengthened their bond.

Doug still had total access to Phoebe's charms, but he was less interested, and certainly had less energy to pump into her needing body. Many of their visits to the club has had Phoebe entertaining several men while Doug watched or strolled about the club's back rooms enjoying a cocktail and quiet conversation with other party goers. Watching Phoebe was vastly interesting to him, and when he took his turn—sometimes after they returned to their own bed—his enjoyment of her sopping wet pussy was heart pounding and breath taking.