Her belly jerked and her thighs trembled. "Rich -- I'm ready for more."He grabbed the waistband of her briefs. She lifted her buttocks and he slid the... off her legs. Gretchen rolled her legs apart and he lay between them. He began kissing and caressing the insides of her thighs. "Have you experienced oral sex?" he asked."Do you mean blowjobs? I'm sorry, Rich, but I'd rather not. Maybe we can work up to it." No -- I mean has anyone performed oral on you?"She shook her head. "No. Not yet. My. Please, let me show you I have changed, that I deserve a chance. Let me take you to dinner tonight."I stood there analyzing him. I usually am a good judge of character, but then I judged him wrong once before. He was not as toned as he had been probably twenty years prior, but for being forty, he still looked good. He was thin, slightly muscular, with bluish-green eyes, wearing jeans and a tan military cotton shirt. His eyes did appear remorseful, full of guilt."I won't make promises about. This gentleman wore a spotless suit of buckskin with two nickel plated revolvers belted about his waist. His head was adorned with a huge hat. In my time we would’ve called such a fancy dresser a ‘goat roper’. This apparition introduced himself as Charlie Utter, the man who led the wagon train that brought Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane to Deadwood. As I talked with him, I determined that Charlie was not a ‘dude’, but likely suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder. He was deathly. However, the one-sided sounds of pleasure were starting to make the encounter uncomfortable for me. Mark was obviously into what we were doing. His hands and hard cock would stand as witnesses to that fact. But for some reason, Mr. Dynamite wasn't giving me the satisfaction of vocal feedback. I lifted my butt off Mark's bulging cock and looked down at his face. "I think we need some music," I whispered. "What do YOU think?" I asked.Mark looked up at my face, swallowed hard, and whispered, "I.
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