Where the Buffalo Roam

"No, I'd think not," she agreed. "What happened?"

"Many years later, my mother told me it took them a few weeks of discussion at the lodge over a number of bottles of wine, but the women finally settled on, if I remember correctly, 'The Suitably Shorn and Depilated Sisterhood of Beautiful Bisonettes.'"

I almost breathed a sigh of relief on getting it out right, but she was staring at me, probably waiting to see if I burst out laughing. When I didn't she finally grinned. "You've got to be pulling my leg!"

"Nope. Of course, the men didn't know the real name, since the women called their group the Beautiful Bisonettes, or just Bisonettes, for short. I understand it was a real scene when Delmer Owens found out after Vernice Shaw, the ladies' secretary, accidentally left her meeting minutes on the counter and her husband Willy walked in and saw it."

"Uh-oh!"

"Uh-huh. Willy had a college degree--that's where he met Vernice--and knew what those words meant, so he wrote it down and brought it to the next lodge meeting thinking everyone would have a great laugh. My late father once told me that Delmer Owens, who was grand poobah that year, nearly had a heart attack about the women making fun of the men. My mom later told me that Delmer and Wanda nearly got divorced over it after he got home that night."

"But you said women can be members now. I guess he got over it?"

"Wanda calmed him, but the women eventually wanted to become full members and have a say in the choice of fundraisers and what the money raised was being used for. They'd still have their separate meetings most of the time but have a combined business meeting ever so often for planning purposes."

"Men drinking beer versus a planning meeting with women? Bet that went over like a lead balloon with the guys."

Chuckling, I nodded. "Yep, the older men flat-out refused, saying that allowing the women to attend their meeting defeated one of the original purposes of the organization. However, the women organized a strike that summer and it only took a few weeks before most of the men were willing to deal."

"Oh, my! I've landed in a feminist hotbed," she deadpanned. "The women quit cooking and cleaning?"

"Mmmm, hardly. No, they still did all the cooking and cleaning since they and their kids lived at home, too. Maybe I should have said 'most of the younger, married' men."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I remember Dad sleeping in the guestroom and me, then in my early teens, wondering what was going on. I thought they were getting a divorce, but all of my friends were telling the same story the next day, too."

She chuckled. "Empowered women! I think I'm going to like this town."

That gave me the break I needed to change the subject. "So you live here now? Was that your moving truck last week."

"Yes, and, I guess it could have been," she agreed without giving any more details. She walked up to the front and placed her items on the counter. "It's been nice talking to you. Can you check me out?"

Not sure if it was intentional, I ignored the double entendre despite the fact that I'd have loved to. "Yeah, it's been nice talking to you, too. Let me ring this up for you."

Moments later, the transaction was done and I'd put her items in a bag. She gave me a little smile and said "Good day" before walking out.

"Have a good one," I replied to her back, again enjoying her form. She was out the door before I realized I'd forgotten to add the drinks to her bill.

***

Dolores Seaver finally called me the next night, and by that Saturday afternoon, I was staring at the clock, willing the minutes to tick by. Dolores married shortly after we graduated from high school and moved to Lesterville, a little over two hours away from Bettleys Corners. We'd reconnected at our 15 year reunion a couple of years before, and, since she was divorced, we hit it off. I considered her my girlfriend, but she felt it was just hooking up when her kids were away for a weekend and she was available.

This was one of those nights, and I was practically tingling with the thought of spending the night with her and the fun we'd have. After all, it had been almost three months since our last tryst, twelve long weeks where the only "companionship" in Bettleys Corners had been my hand, with an occasional online video to set the mood.

Maybe I was distracted, lost in my thoughts of Dolores, for I was heading to the front of the store to close when I turned a corner and was surprised to see my still unknown shopper standing in front of me. She took care of that at once, sticking out her hand and saying, "Hi, Alan. I'm Vanessa Smith, but call me Nessa."

Her hand was soft when I took it and my brain was equally so, it seemed. "Ahem, nice to meet you, Nessa. Finally. Ah, how can I help you today?"

She could probably tell the effect she'd had on me for she waited a few moments before patting my hand with her left to free her right. When I realized and released her, she said, "Sorry, not shopping today. I had to pick up a few things at the grocery store and figured I'd stop by for a minute to introduce myself."

"Oh, I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm closing now so I can head to Lesterville."

"I understand. Hot date tonight?"

My face felt hot and must have turned red as she guessed my objective. Still, I tried to cover. "Uh, I'm meeting one of my high school classmates...for dinner."

With the amused look she gave me, she knew. She had to, and her response with a thin, barely contained smile confirmed it. "Well, drive safely, and I hope you have a really fun night." The eyebrow arch at the end turned me an even brighter crimson.

"Ah, thanks. You, too." I stopped to take care of something on a rack that really didn't need correcting, just to put more separation between us and escape her teasing. I didn't look up again until the bell on the door tinkled and she was gone.

***

I'd had a crush on Dolores through most of our high school years, but she was dating Mickey Taylor, our quarterback, so I never revealed it to her until our fifteen year reunion while we were sharing a slow dance. Even then, I told her as a joke, poking fun at my high school insecurities and how I'd kept it secret for so long, thinking she could get a laugh out of it, too.

A second later, the song continued but our dance had stopped, with Dolores kissing me hard. She grabbed my shirt when the kiss ended, and, with my eyes wide, she practically dragged me off the dance floor, before giving me her room number at the Creek City Inn, where the reunion was being held. Minutes later, we were upstairs doing a full-body dance of our own, making up for lost time.

That was just over two years ago and now we lay in bed holding each other as I slowly pistoned in and out of her hungry grip. She moaned softly with each thrust, much quieter than her near shrieks during our furious, almost-desperate, doggy-style coupling just minutes after my arrival. Our bodies had slammed together with great force then, but now, this was slow, gentle, loving, as we tried to give as much pleasure as we received.

Dolores nibbled on my earlobe, breathing her long, low moans into my ear as I buried my cock as far into her as I could before the long slide and her incredible grip as she tried to prevent my leaving each time. I withdrew until only my tip was still inside before driving back in with equal restraint. As I bottomed out, I ground against her clit, before starting over again.

When her breathing started to change, shorter and faster, I slowly increased my speed, trying to give her all she needed to reach her peak once more. She let me know it was working as it built.

"Oh, yes, yes, keep...going...mmmmm...mmmmm...keep...going....faster....Alan....faster."

The labored words were replaced again by her moans as I rose up off of her, to breathe better and to better see her delightful body writhing below me as my speed continued to increase. Her big breasts, no longer pinned by my chest, were free to begin their incredible, circular waltz. They were almost hypnotic, urging me on, faster still, as her eyes, already closed, squeezed tight and her face started to contort.

My free hand caught her soft spinning globe, and I moved to her dark areola with its little raisin. Pinching the nipple slightly to plump it further, she groaned. "Yes!"

My fingers rolled her nipple between them, a bit harder, and she repeated it with her own hand on the other side as my thrusts became full-on slams into her.

"Harder!" she cried just seconds before she came, her pussy spasming. I started filling the condom just a moment later.

Light-headed with that wonderful sense of euphoria, I collapsed on the bed next to her. I started to reach out to hold her, but she rolled over, jumped out of bed, and took off to the bathroom.

At 5'-3" and 130 pounds, Dolores was nicely curvy, particularly with what I suspected were DD or larger breasts and a pleasingly plump rear that was perfectly padded for our earlier, doggy-style action. I smiled, admiring her delightful form in the second or two it took her to reach her bathroom and close the door. As she went, I was thinking how I looked forward to taking her again as soon as our bodies would allow it and how I wished we could be together every night.

I took my turn when she returned and, soon after, I was back in bed with her, enjoying the aftermath of our evening so far. Dolores rolled over, her soft breasts against me as she looked at me with smouldering eyes.

"It's a good thing you still live in Podunk instead of Lesterville or I'd be going broke, shipping the kids off every weekend," she said quietly.

"I've told you that you should let me meet them."

She gave me the usual "not going to happen" frown before putting her head down on my chest. She said no more, so I lay back, resting, while thinking on what we'd said and the look she'd given me as a result.

We may have dozed for a while, but when I opened my eyes, the same thoughts were still going through my head. My movement, however slight, drew her attention and she looked at me again. This, I figured, was a good time.

"Dolores, do you think, maybe, we should think about this again? I'm not talking about getting married or anything, not right now, anyway, but that we should at least make this official? You know, girlfriend-boyfriend? Dating? A couple? Monogamous? Whatever term you want to use? That way, the kids can know and we can meet each other. I wouldn't have to be kept hidden from them then, and we can see if there really might be something more between us."

She raised up a bit, frowning at me. "Alan, you know we've talked about this. Every time we've gotten together for the past year, we've talked about it, but the answer's still the same. I like you a lot, but you're not going to be part of Janice and Keith's lives. I'm not moving back to Bettleys Corners, you're not moving to Lesterville, and we're sure as hell not moving to Arizona together. Let's enjoy what we have while we have it, but not try to make it something it's not, something it will never be, okay?"

"So we're back to square one; we can have fun but never hope for anything more? Never hope that our relationship can mature and grow?"

"Alan, to be perfectly honest, there's only one thing I"m interested in seeing grow at the moment," she said as she put her hands around me and began a slow massage. When I responded with more enthusiasm than I expected, she slid down and took me in her mouth and I dropped the previous discussion. While I wanted more, I didn't want to mess up the good thing we had going right then, not when, at that particular moment, it was feeling so good....

***

I always missed Dolores a lot on Sunday during the drive home and afterwards and missed her on Monday, as well. By Tuesday, though, I was back to normal, accepting that, no matter how much I liked her, Dolores was a good friend with great benefits, and she saw me merely as her personal fuck toy. That's when the bitterness settled in and I decided, like usual, that I'd never see her again. That's also when Nessa Smith came into the store again.

"Hi, Alan. How was your, ah, dinner, you know, with your friend?"

The humorous expression she wore told me that she had a pretty good idea of what had gone on. Therefore, I changed the subject. "What can I do for you today? New hammer? More nails? Screwdriver? Screws?"

Her eyebrows rose as she replied, "Well, I thought that last one was what we were talking about--"

My face went red when she said it and I realized how stupid I'd been to use that particular term.

"--but if you want to be serious, I could use some advice on where to find some things around here." She pulled a paper from her pocket and avoided looking at me for a few moments as my color faded. "I'd like to support our local merchants as much as I can and not have to order from online retailers if I can avoid it."

It was always nice to get people to support the local economy, so I agreed to help. "Let's have a seat and take a look."

I jotted names of firms and individuals who could supply the goods or provide the services she'd listed for most of the things. Some were in Bettleys Corners with the rest in Creek City. She had some questions, and we discussed my perceptions of a few. It wasn't long before we were laughing as she asked me more about the town, our little school, and more about the Shaggy Buffaloes. I asked a couple of questions, trying to learn more about her, but she was quite deft at deflecting them, leaving me as much in the dark about her as before. Still, it was a fun conversation so I was rather surprised when I glanced at the clock and saw it was already 6:40.

"Wow, time flies when you're having fun. I need to close up shop."

"Thanks, Alan. I appreciate all of the help, but I'll leave you to it."

"Say, Nessa, it's getting late. Can I, ah, buy you dinner at the diner or maybe something at the Burger Barn?"

She looked at me, hesitating, and I think she wanted to accept, but then she slowly shook her head. "That's a sweet offer and I really appreciate it, but...but I can't."

"Just dinner, no strings," I replied, trying to ease her reluctance but she shook her head again.

"Sorry. I've, ahem..."

She hesitated, as if trying to find the right words, before finally pushing them all out at once in a torrent. "I've recently come out of a long-term relationship. I need to live and be free for a while, to find myself, before I get back on that treadmill. Thanks, but no thanks."

Nessa turned and walked away without another word, making me regret putting her on the spot with my request.

With her gone, I thought about how much fun our conversation had been, but thoughts of Dolores put an end to that. I wanted out, out of the non-relationship with her, out of Bettleys Corners, and out of the funk in which I found myself. I didn't want to keep sitting around, biding time, waiting patiently for our next booty call, whenever Dolores initiated it, but knowing full well that I'd come running once again the next time she summoned me.

***

Dolores's summons came on Thursday evening and I was back in Lesterville--and in her, gladly and repeatedly--over the weekend, but by Tuesday afternoon, I was back in my usual funk, wondering why Dolores refused to try for more and why I couldn't walk away from the situation and from her.

Of course, I knew exactly why. While short and curvy, she was a sexual dynamo and a great lover, even if actual love had absolutely nothing to do with it. An incomplete, imperfect relationship with her and the benefits she provided was far better than no relationship at all.

Several customers came in that afternoon, distracting me and putting Dolores out of my mind. At around 4, I wondered if Nessa would stop by like the week before, but by closing time, she was a no-show. I locked the doors and thinking about her and wondering, I typed her name on Google and hit Enter.

There were literally millions of hits but none that I saw on the first few pages were for the Vanessa Smith I'd met. I tried several more search combinations using Nessa and New Jersey, but nothing came up. Another search showed that Smith was the most common surname in the state, followed by Williams and Johnson. Then I realized she could have been from any of the adjacent states, too. It was like a needle hidden somewhere in millions of haystacks, and I didn't know which stack to search.

Inspiration struck as I was about to put the computer in sleep mode for the night. "That moving company name! What was it? From Pennsauken. Ha! Got it!"

I typed in the name from the truck's door and was hoping for some type of result but was disappointed when nothing was found. The company didn't have a single record on Google. "You've got to be kidding me!" I said aloud. "There has to be a record of a moving company that moves someone over half the way across the country."

Unless...

Nessa had been very secretive with her name, not telling me until our third meeting. She'd used cash in both of our transactions, and she didn't want to buy things online, which would have taken a credit card. Everyone knows that credit card purchases are carefully tracked and can be used to pinpoint someone's location.

Nessa had said that she'd recently come out of a long-term relationship. Perhaps it had been abusive, or maybe, even, her husband had been some other type of criminal and she was running away.

Maybe the reason the moving company's name didn't appear was because it didn't exist.

Maybe I couldn't find Vanessa Smith because she wasn't really a Smith.

Maybe she wasn't running away but was being taken away from it all.

Maybe all of this was because Nessa was in the government's witness protection program!

I started laughing at my leaps of logic and ultimate "conclusion." My scenario, I knew, might be possible, but was highly unlikely. I was still chuckling to myself at the implausibility of it all as I set the computer to sleep, turned out the lights, and locked the front door.

Still, as I exercised on my water rower that evening, as unlikely as it was, I couldn't get that possibility out of my mind.

***

Dolores basically went on radio silence at that point but Uncle Horace didn't, coming into the store almost daily to discuss my as-yet unauthorized campaign for grand poobah. After careful consideration, a lot of debate, and a lot more hand-wringing, I finally agreed to run, more to give him a break and get him off my back than because I truly wanted to do it. After all, I was still planning to go to Arizona.

Dolores wasn't answering my texts or calls as fall reached its midpoint. Reaching my limit, I finally left her a message. When done, I hit the number it said to listen to my recording.

Hi, Dolores, it's Alan. I'm sorry, sweetheart, I like you a lot but you've made it clear this isn't going anywhere beyond where we already are. I thought I could live with that and give you some time to rethink it and maybe even change your mind, but you've finally convinced me that's not going to happen.

Now you're refusing to speak with me, maybe because you know how I feel and because you don't want me to say this. That's just forcing me to do it as a stupid voicemail rather than in person or even over the phone. So, I guess it boils down to this: I'm done, Dolores. I can't see you anymore like we've been doing. Maybe that's why you're not answering. Maybe you've realized it already and just moved on without me so maybe this doesn't matter to you and it's just closure for me. Whatever the case--God, I hate this--please don't call me again as more than an old friend, no, make that a former classmate, unless you've had a change of heart on it.