It had, Max thought, been a terrific summer thus far and he was glad his firm had allowed him the extra time off so he could come with Alli and experience it all. They had spent several days at the big powwow for Crow Fair and he had enjoyed the dancing contests and parades enormously. He found that he loved the rugged countryside and wide open spaces of the west that allowed him to see the sky and horizon uninterrupted by skyscrapers and the building clutter he was used to. Alli and Clayton tried, at every step, to make things easier and more comfortable for him in the sometimes unfamiliar world of Indian life and culture. And their friends and family had been warm and welcoming to him, despite some initially awkward moments due as much because of his age as because of his race, he thought.

Once Alli’s grandmother had found out about his talents with a toolbox though, he’d been “in like Flynn”. He recalled their initial meeting and her refusal to speak English to him for days, despite Alli’s anger with the old woman. He’d taken it in stride and tried to soothe Alli’s temper, but one day she had stormed out to have another yelling match with her silver-haired granny. In their absence Max had discovered several cabinet doors in the old woman’s kitchen that were hanging by one screw, as well as the door out the back that had warped from the weather and now dragged, sticking on the splintering boards of the back stoop.

Doing some snooping he’d managed to find a handful of assorted screwdrivers and a bare assortment of other tools in a small chest of drawers. In other drawers around the house he found odd screws and nails and gathering his booty took it in to work on the kitchen cabinets. Coming in later the little round woman had found him shirtless and sweating in the heat, but satisfied with himself as he checked the swing of the little wood cabinet doors. She had smiled toothlessly at him then, eyes sparkling and beckoned him to come with her, nearly dancing with excitement as she pulled him out to the old barn by one arm. Alli had come around the house too, demanding to know what was going on but he could only laugh and shrug before ducking under the lintel.

Alli’s Granny had hugged him fiercely, fingers lingering in the hair of his chest as she patted him. She giggled like a school girl then, her weathered old cheeks flushing. Turning to an ancient tarp covered mess in the corner, she stroked the canvas like the skin of a long-ago lover before telling him -

“Dees for you Max!”

By now Alli had entered the barn too and he heard her slight gasp as he turned back the cloth. He was more curious than seriously expecting to find anything, but with a growing sense of wonder discovered an ancient wood box with carpenter’s tools of a hundred years ago – wood planes, awls, rasps and chisels, ball peen and claw hammers and even a tack hammer resided in the dusty old box, all wrapped in oiled rags to protect them. Reverently he looked through the box examining the tools, while a rapid-fire exchange in Shoshone took place behind him. Finally, Alli had wrapped her arms around him from behind -

“You fixed her cabinets?”

“Uh huh,” he nodded, turning his head to plant a kiss on her nose. “And if these are in as good a shape as they seem to be, maybe we can get her door fixed tonight too. I was afraid it would have to wait till I could get to a hardware store in town.”

She kissed his shoulder, tonguing some of the salt sweat from his skin, “I didn’t know you knew how to do things like that.”

Turning in her arms he grinned down at her, kissing her nose again, “Seems I may have some value besides “standing stud” after all, huh?”

Flashing her full, dazzling smile at him she agreed, “Yeah, I’d say you’re a keeper! But seriously baby, how DO you know this stuff?”

He told her then about the summers of his high school years, after his parents had divorced, spending time with his grandparents who had a little place in the country. His grandfather’s good friend and neighbor was an older Amish gentleman who had taken Max under his wing, teaching him what he could of basic woodworking and construction during those few summers – taking him into the community for every barn raising possible. Max had developed a love of working with his hands that had gone largely unfulfilled, despite his minor in architecture.

“But I don’t understand where these tools came from,” he’d said. “How did your Grandmother get them? How long has she had them for cryin’ out loud? Would she have just left them here forever?’

Alli had, blushing, done some explaining of her own, telling him how her Grandmother (and consequently both Clayton and herself)”Granny Merry” was, despite appearances, not full blooded Shoshone. Merry’s father had been a “breed” – the son of an immigrant German carpenter and a young Arapaho girl, probably “purchased” as a bride with blankets, guns or whiskey. He had inherited the dark good looks of his mother, along with the blue eyes and skill working with wood of his father. It had made him irresistible to Merry’s mother, Mockingbird Sings in the Morning. They had many happy daughters together, but no sons, and before the old man had died he had Mockingbird wrap all his tools in skins soaked in linseed oil. He’d told Mockingbird and his daughters that the tools were “for the one who will come”. As far as Granny Merry was concerned, Max was “The One”.

As for how long it had been, closest reckoning put her Granny’s age near 90, plus or minus a year or two. There was an equally old and treasured German Bible that had all the births and deaths written in it but the ink was old, faded and smudged in spots so it was impossible to tell if the old woman had been born in 1921, 1924 or 1927. Then Alli had to try to explain “Indian time” – something for which there was no easy explanation. The closest way she could explain it to him was that Indian’s traditionally don’t measure time in the same way as white society and the business world – not in 24 hour days and 7 day weeks – but in seasons, ages, eras of conflict or of drought and abundance.

He’d already noticed elements of this. Clayton and his friends might say, ‘we’ll meet you in town around noon’. It might mean that most of them would show up at some point hungry for lunch. On the other hand, it might mean they would show up, en masse, sometime before dark. At first Max’s frustration with their lack of respect for Clayton’s mother, and their lack of punctuality had him feeling seriously disgruntled. Over the days that they had been there, however, Max had noticed Alli gradually relaxing and ceasing to take such lapses personally. She was still largely punctual and if she had given her word she would be somewhere then she would move heaven and earth to be there at the stated time. But on days when they had no plans or obligations, she and her friends or relatives might discuss doing something – but Max was beginning to understand that, in this world, in this place, there was no need to rush or to stress. Necessary things were accomplished because they were necessary – feeding the chickens and other stock. Slightly less imperative things might wait until more convenient – hauling water or cutting wood (or repairing kitchen cabinets, he thought with some humor). Hunting and fishing (and SEX) seemed to always be “imperatives” even if the larder seemed fully stocked and Max wondered how much the pleasure involved in the pursuit weighed in the decision making process. He began to suspect it was a determining factor.

In this case, the family was committed to periodically renewing the oiled cloths until such time as “someone” appeared or was born with the necessary talent and desire to use the tools. The actual historic time involved did not significantly matter.

Events following their explanations had deteriorated rapidly when Max had discovered Alli was bra-less in the summer heat. He DID learn an important lesson though. Individuals with hay-fever should avoid fucking in barns at all costs. Despite Alli insisting he shower immediately he had continued sneezing and coughing for several days and totally gave up wearing contacts in favor of his wire-rimmed “emergency” glasses. It had given Granny Merry plenty of time to round up all the other family members and close neighbors who needed work done around their homes. Max was working harder than at any time since his youth. He had also lost weight, built upper body muscle, gotten quite a tan clambering around on house and barn roofs without a shirt and was sleeping better than ever before in his life. He found, when he gave the matter any thought whatsoever, that he was happy.

Alli seemed happy too. She was cooking a lot – even baking her own sourdough bread. She had started a small vegetable garden, persuading a neighbor to assist with it now in preparation to take over once they’d gone home – in return for which the neighbor would share the produce garnered with Granny Merry. She and Granny frequently worked side by side in the cool of the morning and evening. Occasionally they would grab buckets and baskets and head out into the fields and woods, bringing back their gleaned treasures after spending hours away from the house. Sometimes they’d come home giggling like schoolgirls together and freshly sunburned from skinny-dipping in Big Jimmy Creek or one of the other local waterways. Despite their ‘trifling’ ways, the family (always including such assorted aunties, uncles, cousins and friends as managed to ‘just drop by’ at mealtimes) dined well on huge salads of field greens – “wild” miner’s lettuce and tender poke and dandelion greens with whatever nuts, mushrooms, edible berries and flowers the women had found on their travels. An assortment of vegetables fresh from the productive little garden – or perhaps a soup or stew with some of the game that Clayton and the cousins seemed to forever be hunting – along with liberally buttered slabs of the crusty homemade bread would usually serve to fill the most prodigious appetite. Max HAD noticed, however, that the Indians seemed to universally share a sweet tooth and could almost always manage “a nibble” of one of Alli or her Granny’s famous “scratch” cakes or cobblers.

As the days passed and he relaxed more into the rhythm of their life he realized he was truly learning to love the vastness of the western skies, the lack of traffic noise persisting into all hours and the clean, freshness of the morning air. There was always time enough for loving here as well and a quick pat of Alli’s fanny as she scrambled eggs for breakfast might result in her handing off the spatula to a giggling Granny Merry, or eye-rolling Clayton, as she hauled him back to bed. One of his first projects, after being gifted with the tools had been installing a lock on the inside of their bedroom door. It had been prominently lacking prior to that time and occasioned not infrequent battles between Alli and her grandmother who, although used to having unlimited access to the little back bedroom, seemed most prone to “needing something” in the middle of their lovemaking. Having a lock on the door, freed them from “middle of the night-silent mode” love making they had necessarily adopted by way of coping.

Alli had approved so heartily of his thoughtfulness that she had promptly dragged him inside the little room, locking the door behind her. Arching an eyebrow at her in a mock-quizzical mode he had asked -

“And just WHAT did you have in mind, Ms. Richards?”

Licking her lips and slowly unbuttoning her shirt she grinned at him, “I dunno, baby…I thought we might see what comes up…”

He leaned back on the bed, feeling himself already starting to get hard and strain against his jeans. Damn, he thought, she hasn’t laid a hand on me yet, or shown a tit…just the THOUGHT… Playing along still, he nodded slowly.

Well, I suppose I can spare a few minutes – but I really need to get over to Annabeth Cardinal’s place to look at that old desk of hers…”

She paused in the slow peel of her shirt. “A ‘few minutes’?”

He nodded seriously, trying not to adjust or draw attention to the now painful bulge at his crotch, “Uh huh…a few minutes…if you can think of some way of passing the time…”

She licked her lips again meaningfully as she finished peeling her shirt off, her dark nipples already standing hard and proud against her tanned skin.

“Oh, that…” he said, pretending to a despair he in no way felt. “I suppose that would be…well, ‘adequate’.”

Dropping her hands to her jean zipper she shimmied out of them, her panties immediately following. Advancing on him with a glint in her eye she announced -

“I’m about to GIVE you ‘ADEQUATE’!”

He pretended to try to cover himself with his hands -

“Now wait….Honey….Just a minute….Don’t be hasty….OOOOOOHHHHH!!!!”

She had, with the precision and forthrightness that is almost second nature to all medical personnel, pulled his shirt off over his head, unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his knees along with his boxers. Kneeling in front of him she had arched one brow, the tip of her tongue nearly touching her nose and rolling her eyes at his act before opening her mouth and engulfing him to the root. Hearing his groan of pleasure she had giggled but never stopped sliding and sucking on his cock. Bobbing down to the base, where the tight curls of his pubic hair tickled her nose and then sliding back to the crown, never losing contact, her tongue sliding and teasing the sensitive skin around the rim and particularly the little knot of tissue that was so sensitive to stimulation. His hands were working on the edge of the bed now and she knew he was longing to grip her by the back of the head and fuck her mouth – but knowing too that he loved the slow torture and tease that she was giving him and wanted to give her free rein. Dipping lower she bent her head, sliding her tongue along his taint, as her finger stroked the crack of his ass, finding and lightly tickling his asshole as she opened her mouth wide to suck in first one, then the other of his balls.

“OOOOOOhhhhhhh God!”

“Hmmmmmm?” She hummed around his ball, the vibration shooting straight up into his brain and back again. “Adequate I take it”

“Nnnnnnngggggg,” Max groaned wordlessly. Then, remembering the part he was playing said, “I suppose you’ll do…”

Muttering ‘I’ll do he SUPPOSES’ she slid lower, sliding her tongue up and down his taint before running the tip of her tongue up and around the base of his sack. Inhaling one ball happily into her mouth she simultaneously slid several fingers back and down the crack of his ass to circle the rim of his asshole with the pad of her index finger. It had been a warm day and the smell of clean male sweat and arousal rose around her. As she moved her knees a little further apart, switching from circling his parts to stroking her own she could smell her own musk rising too. Max was holding her head nestled between his hands now, his fingers buried in her hair and she could feel the tension in his hands as his balls drew up and hardened.

As much as he was enjoying her ministrations he didn’t want the moment to end too soon and knew if she continued the blow job he was indeed going to ‘blow’ shortly. Not that that was a problem either, he thought, she loved to drink his cum as much as he did hers, often teasing that her favorite snack was a ‘protein smoothie’. Groaning again his hips flexed involuntarily, the urge to “FUCK” was becoming overwhelming….time to change up the rhythm he thought.

Pulling away from her he kicked out of the remainder of his clothing, laying back on the bed -

“How about sharing a little of that good stuff you’re hoarding down there?”

Bringing her dew wet fingers up into view as she joined him on the bed she solemnly licked one of the fingers, “Hmmmmm, well….I dunno…seems to me the flavor is off a little…not quite up to snuff. What do you think?”

She held a finger to his lips. He licked it – making a major production of the process with plenty of lip smacking. “Mmmm. Really hard to say sweetie.”

She giggled at the double entendre.

“There’s really only ONE way to tell for sure!”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“Avoid the middleman…or finger…”

Leaning over her and grinning lecherously he stroked her wet folds with his own fingers, bringing them up to examine them critically, “Moisture content seems adequate…”

“There’s that word again….ADEQUATE.”

Popping his own fingers into his mouth now and simultaneously saying, “Well, that seems to improve the flavor slightly…”

“Probably due to that bland, caucasian taste you have…” she grinned wickedly at him.

He nodded sagely, “True, certainly doesn’t have that ‘Red Man’ whang to it…”

Finally breaking into gales of laughter she wrapped her arms around him, “Okay baby – you win!”

“Great! WHAT do I win”

Throwing her limbs wide open again so she was spread-eagle on the bed she giggled, “ME of course!”

Falling backwards onto the bed again he groaned mightily, “DAMN! Here, and I’d always thought that a prize was something new and unusual…” Rolling back up onto an elbow to grin at her he continued, “Instead of just the same ol’ same ol’.”

Narrowing her eyes in mock-warning, she was unable to hide the sparkle of humor in her dark eyes as she repeated, “Same ol’ same ol?”

Patting her pussy and kissing her nose lightly he nodded sagely, “Yep, same ol’ same ol.”

“Mr. Roberts, you are getting dangerously close to sleeping alone on the couch!”

Continuing to toy with her wet folds he shook his head in disagreement, “I kinda doubt it sweetie…I seem to have fairly solid evidence that SOMEBODY in this bed seriously wants fucked…and I think the couch is a little small…and a little too public for that!”

Popping his wet fingers in his mouth again he noisily sucked her juices from them, grinning at her irrepressibly.

Dropping his hand back to her slit, he stroked gently down the length of her sex, tracing the path of her lower lips. He smiled as she caught her breath, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. He bent, seeking first to draw her lips into his own, unconsciously trying to find a way to compress all of the love and passion he felt for her into their shared kiss. Using the knowledge of her body he’d gained over the past months he played on her sex as though it were a musical instrument. He realized how well he’d succeeded when she surged against him, clinging desperately with her legs locked around his wrist. The heady perfume of her musk filled the little room and the damp spot below her on the bed widened.

Alli was puffing like a steam engine now, interspersed with little cooing cries of pleasure. Nibbling a trail of fiery kisses from the corner of her jaw he was unsurprised to find her thumbing her own nipples.

Tsk’ing at her he scolded, “MY prize sweetheart….ALL mine!”

Bending his head he opened widely, attempting to engulf as much of her breast as possible in his mouth. Sucking hard to pull her deep in his mouth he chuckled at the triumphant, ‘Ohhhh, YES, baby!’ that issued from the head of the bed. He thought again, briefly, it was a shame he hadn’t known Alli when her breasts had been filled with milk to nurse Clayton. But then, he realized, he’d have been too young to take full advantage of the situation.

Tonguing her nipple, flicking it lightly and circling it with his tongue, writing their combined initials across them, he was unsurprised to feel her cunt spasm against his fingers again. She’d told him once how much she loved nipple play, saying that her nipples seemed to be directly linked to her clitoris in some way. He bent his head a little lower, inhaling the sweetly erotic scent that always lingered just below her breasts, stroking along the fold of skin where they lay against her ribcage with his tongue, enjoying the salty tang of her sweat. Pausing briefly he blew a wet raspberry in her navel, just to hear her laugh.

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June 2018
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