9 comments/ 11974 views/ 6 favorites Horse Pens 40 By: MSTarot (This story goes out dedicated to my friend Tx Tall Tales. Happy birthday, Triple T. And many more to come.) * "Well my name's John Lee Pettimore." With my head nodding to the music as I sang along with it, I hit the blinker and checked my right-side mirror for any fools too asleep to see my flashing signal. Given the speed I was going, when this big Ford Econoline van--and the trailer I was towing--changed lanes widows and orphans worried. Maybe they should; I was all but half-asleep myself. Only the cool, damp morning air rushing in the window was keeping me awake. That and my singing, which I've been told could wake the dead. "Same as my daddy and his daddy before." Down the off ramp into Steele, Alabama, I caught the light exactly right and took the turn at a speed only a might less than what I had been traveling for the last six hours. Taking a long sip of my cold coffee, I followed old memories and not much else towards my destination. "He'd buy a hundred pounds of yeast and some copper line ... there you are, darlin' come to Papa Dan." [Renaissance Faire] "That damn sign could still be bigger," I thought as I took a sharp turn and started up that long zigzagging road to the top of Chandler Mountain. "And this damn road still needs to be wider!" With my windows open and the last lyrics of Steve Earle's song waking up the sleeping squirrels, I took tight right turn, after tight left turn, powering the old Ford up the hill toward the camp grounds. Behind me I could hear the multiple gallons of icy-cold marinade sloshing in their sealed Rubbermaid's. I could imagine the hundreds of turkey legs doing some sort of weird jig in those boxes. Dancing like they were still attached to their feathered hips and not floating in my special mixture of apple cider and spices. Feathered bodies that might would have been doing a pretty-damn-fair imitation of drunken line-dancers at Gilley's, if they were not in my smoke house back home. Right then left, right then left, higher and higher the road climbed into the growing morning light. I squinted my tired eyes when I cleared the level of the nearby hills and the morning sunshine hit my eyes full on. Another sip of the cold coffee and I tossed the dregs into the grass beside the road. I stuffed the Styrofoam cup into the grey Walmart bag hung between the two van seats and grabbed my shades off the visor. "Oh, why the fuck does morning have to get here so early." I mumbled as my van finally leveled out, and I drove the last bit of distance to the gate. The man sitting there looked as sleepy as I did, under his blue and red denim Brave's cap. He yawned, picked up a clip board and walked out to my window, which was good because I wasn't going to get out and walk to him. He glanced to the side of the van. "Papa Dan ...?" "...the Turkey Man. Yep, that's me. Do you need to see my ID or would a leg do?" I asked with a smile. At his rolled eyes I handed him my driver's license. "Dan Hinder." Well, okay he can read at least. He's awake enough for that, even if his sense of humor is asleep. He handed it back to me. "Okay, Turkey Man, I have you on my list. Just follow the road down to the right." "Thanks, I know the way. Been here before," I told him as I pushed the plastic card, with my terrible photo, back into my wallet. "Come by later today and try a bite, if you're still here." He nodded, yawned again and headed back to his wooden stool to try and get back to sleep. Looking in my mirrors, I wished him luck in that as I saw the train of lights climbing the hill behind me. Following the graveled path that was pretending to be a road, I rolled down through the gates and across the camp ground, heading towards where I had been set up the year before. Ahead of me my lights began to play across the beautiful sandstone rock formations. Then the large natural amphitheater came into view, and past that I saw where they set up Merchant's row last year. I was happy to see that I was the first food vendor to arrive--hell, only one other tent was completely up. I grinned as I recognized another old faire hand. Joe "Cute-Butt," the sword guy was busy unloading his cloth-wrapped wall hangers and the few leather-encased masterpieces he never managed to sell but always brought, hoping for that sale of a century. Pulling in across from him, he looked over at me and his shoulders slumped. I grinned as I backed my trailer in underneath the shade of the big oak tree. That century-old leafy monster, and the shade it provided on the hot summer days, was an old and dear friend after the last two faires I've attended here. I checked both mirrors frequently till I had the big smoker in almost the same stone tire-divots I had parked it in before. As I shut off the van, I saw Joe walking towards me shaking his head. "Nope, nope. Not a chance, turkey man." Joe pointed up the hill toward the other end of Merchant's Row. "Pull that thing to another spot. I put on twenty pounds the last time I was across from your cooker, just from smelling it all day." Laughing, I held out my hand to him. "That and the ten damn legs you ate that weekend." "Yeah, yeah. All my fault, right. I could have moved at any time." He helped me unhook the big trailer. "It's just greed on my part. I mean hungry people need a place to stand and eat." "And what better damn place to stand than at a tent with a display of swords." I smirked, then nodded to the blank area next to him, with four red wooden posts driven into the ground in a square. "Is Galen showing up?" "That's the rumor." He looked off towards the road. "And speak of the druid." I looked up to see a white Dodge van, even older than my own, slowly coming down the road. "There goes my diet." Joe complained, "Stuck between his spring rolls and your legs." He walked off to help the old druid park, never seeing me grinning at what he had said. Unhooking the latches, I opened first one then the other of the hooded doors on the old five-hundred gallon propane tank I used as my grill. The sweet-to-rank smelling remnants of the last weekend's cooking hit my nose. Old smoke, hints of the spices, and the forever imbedded smell of roasted meat. I savored it the way some savor wine. Walking to the steel box on the back, I opened it and opened the flue on the burner to let it get more air. A turn of a handle, a push of a button and blue gas flames ignited to get the wood going in the smoker. Closing back the lid, I hit the small blower fan I had installed and walked to the van to get the first big Rubbermaid full of brined turkey legs out. I gave Galen a messy-hand wave as I started rolling legs in my spice rub and loading the metal hanging hooks inside my cooker. Already waves of heat and white smoke were billowing through the open doors. The old druid did a belly dancer hip wiggle that made me grin. With the grill filled, I washed the spices and marinade off my hands and went to get the secret ingredient. Well, as secret as a five gallon bucket full of large chunks of Jack Daniels barrel-wood, soaking in spring water can be anyway. The wet wood reeked of bourbon when I tossed several pieces of it onto the fire. The heat going good, I turned off the gas, closed the damper, and set the counter-weight-driven rotisserie to moving. Looking at the strapped-down bundle on the top of the van, I sighed and went to work on getting the tent down and set up against the side of my van. "Going to be a long day," I muttered. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** "Come gnaw on my legs! YOU SIR, want to gnaw on another man's legs? I know that kind of thing is frowned up in this state, but today, we'll make an exception." Barkering the passersby, I kept my eyes open for "BoBo the Jester" because I swore, if that "fool" blew that damn stupid horn of his behind me again ... I was gonna put his spandex-motley-body-suit-wearing-ass into my cooker. "Miss, yes you, beautiful lady, you. How would you like to take a bite out of a juicy hunk of smoking hot meat?" The faire goer smiled, but shook her head. The two guys behind her, however, did step up to my table and buy legs. I wrapped their food up in aluminum foil and took their cash. "Enjoy, sirs." "Come gnaw on my legs!" I yelled again. "And what if we wanted to gnaw somewhere a bit higher up?" asked a sweetly sensual voice, all purring sex. "Yes, what about that? Would we find anything ... good there to eat," said a second woman's voice with a throaty Scottish burr. "Papa Dan ... I'm hungry. Do you have anything a girl can put in her ... mouth?" The third voice tried to raise my kilt it was so silky and close to the side of my head. "Something warm, meaty, and spicy?" Turning to look at the three "kissing wenches" standing behind me. I grinned and slicked down my salt and pepper goatee. All three were in brightly colored bodices, which left little to the imagination from nipple up, and with enough cleavage showing between the three of them to stop a man's heart. Their plump lips, all in thick coats of lipstick so they left behind souvenirs of their kisses, were perked in flirty smiles at me. One of them, the shortest, had come around my table to deliver her whisper into my ear and she now slipped under my arm. "Ladies, everything in this tent is spicy and meaty enough to fill a wench's belly." I flirted back, and the lady under my arm giggled and put her hand on my ass. Her fingers splayed across the black and green tartan cloth covering my butt. I looked down at her and grinned. "Having fun, little girl?" "Yes, papa," she purred. Oh, god damn ... okay, someone get me a defibrillator quickly. And a heavier sporran. This one is in danger of rising. "What can I do you ladies for?" I asked with a grin. "Well, that would take more than turkey legs," said the tallest girl with the too-bright red hair. "But we can negotiate that after lunch." "Speak for yourself, Loreley. I'm starving enough to trade at that rate," said the girl under my arm. "Besides, he has a nice ass." "Not as nice as Joe's, though right?" I asked, looking down at her with a smile. She was a sweet-smelling, warmth of plump comfort against my side. "Well, that goes without saying," she said, all saucy. "He has the best ass in the business." "Papa Dan, let me get a leg and a Diet Coke." The tallest one, (Loreley?), told me, giving up on her flirty banter. "Yes, miss." I looked down at the girl under my arm. "You're going to have to turn me loose." She pouted beautifully, but slipped out from under my arm. Getting them their food and drinks, I noticed the exchange of looks too late as I handed them their change. So it was a surprise when they caught me with my sporran open as it were. Before I could blink my face was covered with red lipstick kisses. One all-but on my lips. With a grin the three went skipping off with one of them merrily singing. "Papa Dan is the man, he gives me his meat whenever he can." The youngest girl looked back at me, took a bite out of the turkey leg in her hand and flipped her skirt showing the bottoms of white-silk pantaloons. Shaking my head with a grin, I looked around and found Joe and Galen both looking at me with huge smiles on their faces. I shrugged and went back to selling turkey legs. As I did, I couldn't help but remember how nice it had been to have the girl under my arm. But then came the other thought; she was young enough to be my daughter. I sighed at the too quick passage of time filling my goatee beard with gray hairs. "Come gnaw on my meat!" Hearing a horn, I looked around to see the jester BoBo running through the thick crowd at full flight with five costumed people after him. He was laughing and blowing that damn horn of his as he went past my stand. "Free turkey leg to the man that catches him!" I yelled to his pursuers. I watched their spurred-on efforts to catch the motley fool. "That'll teach him to blow a horn up my kilt." ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Sitting down for the first time in hours, I absently listened to the actors running thought their too-often rehearsed parts in the play they were doing nearby. Had I been paying attention I could have heard the same play four times today already. Glancing over, I smiled at the live chess game going on, the kids giving the people running it fits. I laughed seeing one of the children, the bishop I believe, run off the chess board to his mother. I think I could get some of my turkeys to follow directions better. "I am a dreadful Viking! A warrior of the frozen Northlands!" Glancing over at the "warrior" a guy in his young twenties, tall certainly, but not at all what I would call dreadful looking. Almost baby-faced. He was speaking to the crowd gathered on the rocks before him to listen. I turned my head towards my smoker, the legs for the dinner crowd were getting close to done. Truthfully some were done, and I had wrapped them in tinfoil to keep them from drying out; now they were just smoking for flavor. "And this is my battle axe!" said the Viking for the fourth time today. "Isn't it a beautiful battle axe?" "Yes, but it looks nothing like my mother!" I spit tea out my nose as a member of the crowd chimed in unexpectedly. The people in street clothes surrounding her burst out laughing; even some of the actors had a hard time keeping a straight face. The dreadful Viking was biting his bottom lip. "I'm not supposed to laugh ... but damn that was funny." He cleared his throat and looked at the blonde lady on the boulder, who I noticed was dressed in medieval clothes. "Quiet you, I'm trying to kill this varlet." He pointed the axe at the man who was his opponent in their play. "And I can't do that if I'm laughing." He snorted, unable to help himself, and the crowd laughed again. "Silence! Now, where was I?" He looked at his fellow players. "Beautiful battle axe!" called the blonde lady from the boulder to the further delight of the crowd. "Thank you," said the Viking politely. "Now hush, I have a varlet to slay." "Yes, sir," she said meekly. He started to say his line again then stopped and looked at her. His eyes narrow and he lifted the axe threatening for a second. "Don't call me sir." With the actors doing their best through the rest of the play to keep a straight face, they finished their lines. The villainous Viking was killed off, his beautiful battle axe taken as a trophy, and the crowds dispersed to go find other "medieval" adventures. I saw the blonde lady and her husband--also in garb, who, in my opinion, would have made a much better Viking--walked over to where the actors were standing together. It looked as if she was apologizing, but the Viking smiled and shook his head laughing. The blonde lady and her husband drifted away, and the actors then went to go take a break till their next show in an hour or so. That bit of diverting excitement over, I went back to watching the crowd. Most were shopping for Ren Faire souvenirs now. I saw a couple of somewhat familiar faces, people I had sold food to earlier, among the new people. Tired people, getting ready to leave behind their day in the New Middle Ages. Stopping only long enough to spend the last of their pocket cash on some little item that would keep the memoires of this day alive. Turkey legs were not on their minds now. I did manage to make a few sales to some of the newcomers, but a lot of them had eaten before they got here. This was a familiar pattern to me so I didn't fret. Food sales would pick up right before the sun began to sink, people grabbing dinner before they left. Then I could bank the fires for the night, wrap everything in foil and call it a good day of sales. Rest, maybe a little quiet time sharing a drink with some close friends from the Ren Faire circuit, grab some sleep in my tent, and then be up at the butt-crack-of-dawn to do this madness one more time. There were soft foot steps behind me. "BoBo, I swear to all that is holy, I will cook your ass in my smoker if you blow that damn horn behind me again." Turning, I saw, not the expected body-suit-wearing jester, but the young kissing wench from earlier. "Sorry, wasn't expecting you, hun." She smiled. "Nope. Not a skinny guy in a cat suit, just a tired wench looking to rest her feet." She held up the small igloo cooler she was carrying "Cold beer?" "Oh, yes please. Since you're buying ... miss?" "Vickie." She handed me the cold, wet bottle of beer, but I stopped and looked at the odd tattoo on her wrist. "A semicolon?" I pointed with the bottle then popped the top. I took a slow sip, letting the malt and hops play on my tongue then swallowed. "What's that about?" Vickie rubbed at her wrist for a second, almost as if the ink was itchy. I saw her eyes take on a far off look for a moment, and then when she spoke she sounded almost sad. "It has to do with suicide prevention. A semicolon means it's not time for the story to end." She gave me a sad smile and opened her beer. I noticed when she took a sip the top of the bottle was bright red from lipstick. "It's to help me remember." I nodded and sighed. "Yeah, I've got some of that kind of ink myself." She smiled. "Oh, you have tattoos, Papa?" It was a true grin. "Yeah, darlin' more than a few. Some older than you." "Let's see." In the face of her eagerness, I unbuttoned the top three wooden buttons on my shirt and pulled the cloth to the side to show the howling wolf tattooed over my heart. "Feed the right one?" she read the banner under it. "What?" I rebuttoned my shirt as I explained. "It's part of a Cherokee proverb. Inside all of us there are two wolves that battle. One good, one evil. And the one that wins is the one you feed." "Profound. When did you get it?" she asked, following my gaze when I looked at the smoker out of habit. "I woke up in jail one morning, hung over to hell. I was about your age. No damn idea how I got there, what I had done. Where I had been. My knuckles were swollen, my jaw hurt so I knew I had been in a fight. As I was sitting there I got to thinking, what if I had killed someone? I mean I had no memory of why I had been in a fight; what if I had really hurt someone? People had already told me I was wild as hell when drunk. Turns out I had done a few rounds with the bouncer at a damn bar. I had to pay damages, he didn't press charges. So I walked out. That time." Absently I placed a pair of fingers over that wolf, rubbing the ink in a way similar to what she had done. "But what about the next time? Or the next? So I settled my dumb ass down after that. Got this to remind me." "And I offered you alcohol." She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Oh, I'm no teetotaler, girl. Trust me, this is not even the first beer for today, and you can bet your lipstick it's not going to be the last one either. Excuse me." Getting up, I took a customer's order. He was one of those heading home types, and took four legs with him for dinner. When I was at the smoker hood I noticed Vickie licking her lips. "Hungry again?" I asked. She nodded, so I pulled her out a turkey leg and brought it over. I waved off the move by her to get money out her pouch. "You're buying the drinks, least I can do is get dinner." Sitting back down, I grinned and took a sip of my beer. "Thank you. This is so good." I nodded, accepting the praise. "A man can be good at no more than four things in his life. Cooking turkey legs to perfection is simply one of my four." She looked at me odd then smiled. "And what are the other three?" I shook my head. "Well, if I told what they are then I couldn't change what they are when I need to." I reached over and tapped her beer bottle with mine. "But two of them can only happen in the company of a beautiful woman." I looked up. "Or three beautiful women. Here come your friends." 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. Horse Pens 40 "Oh, Papa, no! No, don't I'm not ... oh, dear god!" A day at the Ren Faire, walking, sweating and simply being aroused by all the kissing-flirting, had left her with a pheromone smell so heady, it was an overpowering ambrosia to my nose. I buried my tongue into her, finding her as bitter-sweet as Chardonnay wine, but as crisp to the tongue as a fresh apple. I lapped her lips open then sucked at them for more of that sweet juice. Her moans were filling the van till she grabbed one of my pillows and stifled them in it. When I found her clit, hiding from me under its little hood, my mouth hit a hard ring. I pulled back at that unexpected find, but then I lipped at it and slid my tongue under the piercing to touch that swelling nub. Her pleasure shriek when I sucked at her clit defied the pillow to contain it all. Pulling back, I looked up at her till she uncovered her panting, flushed face and looked at me. "Anything, right? That's what you said?" I asked, a slight grin hovering on my lips. She licked her lips. "Anything." "Good." Leaning back in, I went back to devouring her pussy, even as my fingers slid into her. The penetration caught her by surprise and the pillow didn't catch the entire moan. When my thumb, wet from her juices, centered up on her asshole and pushed in, with no more warning than that, her moan was a delight to my ears. A mixture of surprise, pleasure and a hinted at moment of pain, that faded as I began to make it circle in her tight warmth. I felt my two fingers going numb from the tight grip on them as I pushed a third into her pussy to join them, and struggled with my own wrist to keep that thumb buried. But it was such a pleasant struggle. She rocked, pushed at my head with her hands, clawed at my hair. Her foot hooked the back of my head and she pulled me in deeper. I happily left her clit to lick that hot succulent hole. Sucking even thicker juices from inside. "Oh, Papa, that feels so good." I chuckled at the praise and went back to what I was doing, encouraged to greater efforts. Even as I was busy though, my mind kept harping back on that Papa thing. The old bad memories struggling to have a place against the pleasure I was having now. I was beginning to enjoy having Vickie calling me Papa. And that bothered me, since I had enjoyed it when Daphne had called me daddytoo. But with my mouth full of Vickie's sweet pussy, those abstract thoughts didn't have a chance to distract me. I licked and sucked and lapped and twisted my fingers in her, making Vickie moan into my pillow. Reaching my hand down, I stroked my cock, and decided it was time. I would rather hear her cum with me inside her than any other way, and I was not liable to be this hard again. I felt ready to drive a nail into mahogany, which was more than enough to fill Vickie's wet heat. I left her empty as I pulled my three fingers free. Reaching by my bed, I pulled a condom out of a shoe box I kept there. I thought back to when I bought them as I opened the wrapper and slipped the tight roll down my length. She watched me, her legs spread wide, welcoming me with lustful need to enter her. She nodded seeing what I was doing then smiled as I took the back of her calf in a rough grip and lifted her ass a bit to allow myself easier entry into her. She closed her eyes and moaned, "Oh, Papa," as I pushed into her pussy. "Oh, my fuckin' god girl, are you tight," I breathed out in a moan of pure bliss. And she was. Possibly the tightest woman I had ever entered. I felt gripped from the start of her all the way to the end when my balls came to rest against her wrinkled rose. Vickie opened her legs wider then pulled them up and me down. "Come down here to me, lover. I want you to kiss me as you fuck me." I tried to keep as much of my weight on my elbows as I could but she pulled me even tighter. I heard and loved the little whimper when I went even deeper. Her lips fluttered across mine, and then she spoke right by my ear. "I like it like this. I like to feel pinned down by a man's weight. Covered, tucked in under a warm male blanket. All safe and protected." Her nails dug into my ass cheek and hip. She pulled against me. "Now fuck me, Papa. As slow or as rough as you like. I'm all yours; just enjoy yourself." This old horse needed no further spur. Without the automatic rhythm I fell into, we probably wouldn't have survived as a species. I gave not a thought to it. I simply pulled out and pushed in, mindlessly enjoying the tight friction I was feeling along my length. The delightful way she lifted her hips up to meet each thrust. Then as we both grew wetter, and the heat began to build, I lifted up my chest off her breasts and pushed into her pussy harder and harder. She welcomed this with a moan of delight and then showed me her youth, by pulling her legs up till the backs of her thighs were under my arms. I had her rolled up in a tight ball, nothing in the way of placing every inch of my cock into her with each thrust. Her face was flushed and she was panting for air, looking me in the eyes the whole time. Caressing my face, she smiled a sexy grin. "You ... liked my ... ass, didn't you Papa?" she asked when I was feeling my body starting to grow close to a point of exhaustion, far too soon. I needed a moment to rest, to catch my breath but her grin promised me no such reprieve. "Want to fuck me in it? Yeah. Let me turn over then." I must have agreed since she was in motion under me. I helped her legs come around me then she was belly-down on the mattress. She looked over her shoulder at me. "Like this, Papa. Pin me under you again. Don't let me get away as you fuck my ass." I nearly covered her back with cum just from her saying that. How I didn't paint her ass cheeks white when I moved on top of her and guided my cock between those cheeks with their pale contrasting skin next to her tan lines, I'll never know. But the tight grip of her ass, so hot and so unbelievable tight around me as I began to push in was nearly my doom. "Yes, Papa. Just like that. Do it quick, make me squirm." She moaned as more of me slid into her. "Oh, it burns ... NO! Don't stop, just get it in. I want it all in me." With a moan, I sank to my balls into this lovely young woman, this Ren Faire kissing wench. "My tits. Hold onto me by them," she begged, when my chest touched her back. "Pinch the nipples for me, Papa. Make them hurt!" In those last moments I wished, for just a second, that I was again the man of my youth, when I would have given this delightfully naughty girl under me a fucking to make her whimper. More than one, a long night full of them. But she was whimpering now, as I gave her pink nipples a twist between my fingers, and I was in serious concern for losing a lung to vacuum collapse due to lack of air. It was with sadness and relieved joy that I felt my balls tighten and that gripping-surge drawing my lust from my bones and pouring it into the tip of the condom. I wanted, with a stupidity born of lack of blood to my brain, for that bit of latex to not be there. I wanted to be filling this sweet ass with my seed. No! Not her ass, I wanted to be back in that tight pussy! Letting my cum loose in there to do what it was meant to do. How bizarre I thought, as I gasped for breath. I had never with any other lover wanted to get her pregnant, but suddenly, with this young woman I wanted that. I wanted it with a desire that brought tears to my eyes. As I rested my weight on her and listened to her little moans under me, feeling the shivers in her thighs, I pondered that thoughd as I grew soft and slipped free. When I could I moved off her and lay next to her. She turned to face me and curled up against my chest, with little whimpers that told me she was not done coming yet. I brushed her slightly sweaty hair and held her to me, and I smiled in pride at the orgasms that were still making her twitch. Absently, I pulled the condom off me and tossed it towards the large, blue Maxwell House coffee can I use for trash in here, this home away from home. Vickie looked up at my face, smiled, and then placed a gentle kiss on my dimpled chin. Then playfully pulled at my goatee with her teeth. "That felt incredible, Papa. But I want more." She brushed my chest hair. "Will you give me more, soon?" "In a bit." "Good. Rest for a moment and I'll help you get hard again." She snuggled into my chest and took my limp cock in her hand. Her fingers delicately caressed then cupped me, and then she held my balls. Her nails in the hair-flecked skin. Her fingers a simple comforting warmth. "Papa, can I taste your cum this time?" "You want that?" "Oh, I do. I want to see if you're as spicy as your food." She grinned as me and scratched her nails down my inner thigh. "Having fun, Papa? Still bothered by me calling you that?" "Not so much." "Good, because I enjoy doing it." Vickie moved up and kissed my mouth hard, licking at her lips when she got a taste of herself. She sat up a bit and smiled at me. "I'm all over you." "Maybe I'm saving you for later." I moved my hand to cover my mouth and mustache and breathed in her deep scent again. "Keeping your scent as a midnight snack." "You can have my pussy again as a midnight snack." She gripped my cock tighter for a moment then released it to gently stroke me again. "I have no reason to go anywhere before the morning. Then I'll have to get back to my wenching." She grinned. "A wench's job is never done." Casually touching her, as she was touching me, I watched her face. Vickie was a sensual woman, her eyes alive with an inner mischief that promised the possibilities of many nights of pleasure to any man strong enough to live through them. Moaning at what she was doing to my cock, I was not terribly sure I was that type of person anymore. That thought came even as I felt the beginning of myself hardening in her fingers. Getting ready for a second time to bring pleasure to me by giving pleasure to her. She was watching this hardening with interest, licking her lips with a visible hunger familiar to anyone that cooks for others. When Vickie leaned in and licked at the tip, I grinned at her sudden look of distaste, remembering, even as she did it, what she had forgotten. "Latex?" I asked. "Yes. Latex," she said making little spitting sounds. "And lube." "Sorry. Let me clean myself up." I started to move but she placed a hand on my chest and stopped me. "Let me. I like taking care of my men. Where is there water and a rag?" I pointed out to her were to find them then lay back and simply watched the naked woman at work. She wet the rag and then pushed her hair out the way. She sat next to me and began to clean my cock with gentle touches. The cool water had its predictable effect of course. She didn't seem to mind; she simply smiled and gave me a wink. "I'll get it hard again here in just a moment." When she licked her lips my pulse jumped two beats faster. Vickie cleaned my cock first, and then used her tender touch to wash my balls with the soft cloth. Then she gave me a tight squeeze up the length and leaned back in to lick the head. "Umm, much better." She opened her mouth and took all of me into it, a warm soft feeling that spread and grew in intensity as she licked and began to suck. Her lips slid along me, a tight massage to the head then she batted the tip circling the flared crown. Leaning back against the pillows, I watched her at work on my cock. She went after me with a joy and pleasure at what she was doing I have so rarely encountered. In fact she matched the love of oral that I had shown when I went down on her earlier. Matched it and in some ways surpassed it. The harder I became, the more she seemed to love what she was doing. It brought moans and soon almost groans from me. Her suction on the side would have left hickies anywhere else. Then she began to nibble, little pressure bites that made me squirm. I watched, panting for breath, feeling every pebbly taste bud on her tongue, my skin was soon so sensitive. I closed my eyes and moaned her name when she left my cock to lick the skin of my balls. When she pulled the folds between her lips, sucking on my skin like I had earlier on her outer lips, I hissed. Her fingers curled around the base of me, that tiny pinky caressing a testicle. Those fingers gave little pulses as she sucked and licked the head between her lips. Then her mouth tightened and she let her lips ride down me till they touched her own fingers. Slowly, one-by-one, she rolled those fingers out the way taking more and more till her nose touched the dark curls at the bottom. Then she gulped. "Oh my fuckin' god." My hands clawed at the sheets as she let her throat work me. I marveled at the fact she was not only doing this, but managed a smile around me as she saw how much it was making me squirm. "Oh, Vickie." Her mouth left me with a pop. "You are going to cum for me, Papa? I've been a good girl yes? Can I have my present now?" She gave a little pout, that nasty condom got all of the last one and made it all icky. I need to taste you, papa. Please?" My hand caught her head and I pushed her back to my cock. She giggled and took me deep into her mouth. Now all tongue and teeth, lips rippled only the raised veins, milking the length of me to get me closer. And get me closer it did. Moment by moment, second by second, my control over my body fell away as she put more pressure on me. Painful levels at times that had me groaning deep in my throat. My head went back violently against the pillow and I clenched my teeth as I moaned and my cum came pouring out of me for the second time tonight. Vickie sucked it all out, not even giving me time to squirt it but pulling at me with her mouth, drinking my cum down, then sucking so very hard for more. And she did not stop. She devoured squirt after squirt from the end of my cock, licking the head then applying that suction that made me want to scream. When I felt as if I could stand not a second more of this delicious agony, this delightful torture she released me to the cool night air. When I looked down at her those sexy eyes were on mine, she smiled a very wet smile then, using her fingers, laid me flat and slowly licked the ridged underside of my cock till I was soft. I moaned her name the whole time. She curled her way in under my arm, and I held her to my chest, her cheek pillowed over my heart, resting on the wolf tattoo. "How fierce your heartbeat is. Was it that good for you, Papa? Did I do good?" Leaning in I kissed the top of her head. "You did very good. Did you like your present? Did Papa give you what you wanted?" I asked, deciding to play her game. She had more than earned it. She gave a little chuckling giggle. She moved her hand back down to my tender cock. I bit back the wince as she petted me like I was a favorite cat. "You gave me exactly what I needed, Papa. I want to be greedy and ask you for more, but I know you're tried. I'm tired now too, even though I'm still hungry for more." She gave me one last pat. "Can I sleep here? I don't have to leave do I?" "Of course you can! What kind of man would turn you out into the night?" Reaching over, I tugged my light sheet over the two of us and I loved it when Vickie snuggled tighter into the side of me. It had indeed been a long time since I had a woman sleep this close to me, sleep when we were still sticky from sex sweat and smelling like a brothel between the two of us. Old memories, some decades past came and went, haunting me through those last moments of the night. I knew when she drifted off to sleep, just minutes before I did. I felt her breathing fall into an even rhythm, a sleeping rhythm. There, in that moment, with sleep just seconds away, with the eternal smell of my cooking that normally surrounded me buried blissfully under the smell of her raw sex that still covered my mustache and goatee. I languidly cupped a hand over it, smiling tiredly remembering the midnight snack joke I had made. Then, turning my head, I breathed in the scent of her soft hair and drifted those last steps away. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Morning brought with it the usual sounds of a Faire waking up. The groans of old druids getting ready to cook spring rolls again. The clatter of sword sellers removing the canvas around their tents. Somewhere out there among the tents a crazed jester was getting his tight body suit on, and tuning up his horn. And a turkey leg cooker was using morning wood to ravage the pussy, ass and mouth of a kissing wench for the second time in a dozen hours. I had awakened to her lipping the end of my cock, tonging the pre-cum-leaking hole. Her mouth as sweet in the morning to watch at work as it had been the night before. Then she smiled got on her knees next to me and asked to be fucked one more time before she had to go to work. Never one to turn that down, I enjoyed her as much as the night before, but now there was an odd surrealistic feeling to this act. Even as I shifted my cock into her ass, when she asked, I felt like I was watching someone else from the outside doing this carnal act. Oh, I felt the full pleasure of it, certainly. But at the same time I could not help but miss the closeness of the night before. It was only after she had dressed and left to go get her "wenching clothes" on that it came to me. Everything this morning was exactly the same as the night before, except she never once called me Papa. Not once. And as I set my cooker to burning, the Jack-Daniel's-soaked barrel wood added much later than I usally would, I pondered that she had not done that. I thought about it till well after I had the smoker going and loaded with meat. I was cleaning the empty Rubbermaid's when I gave up on figuring it out and just tried to do my job. Tried, but no more than that, as I was hopelessly distracted. My mind kept flashing back to the night before, and almost reluctantly to this morning. I had my normal Sunday sales. The Ren Faire was jumping, but there was a finality to everything that settled in around one o-clock. People had to go to their normal nine-to-fives the next day; they had to leave this modern "Times of Olde" before it got too late. And Steele, Alabama is not really close to anything. Some vendors began to pack up even before the crowds completely slacked off. I saw the wenches twice from afar, but they never came close. Not to eat, not to say hey, not to even admire Joe's butt. By the time I was selling the very last of my legs, at half the regular price so I don't have to take them home, I was exhausted. Tired and ready more for a bed than a five-hour-drive home following my getting all this packed up. I watched Joe leave, his regular job already calling him back to the mundane world. The druid packed away his leather dragon hat and drove away singing a completely-out-of-season Christmas carol to himself. "Want some help, Dan?" The soft hand on my back would have startled me if she hadn't spoken. Vickie was no longer in her fancy dress, nor was she in the simple shorts and t-shirt from last night. A pair of faded jeans hugged her legs, and her souvenir Lady Gaga concert tank top shirt gave her a more muted presence than before. Certainly more than last night when what she had worn screamed sexy. "Sure." Without much more than a few questions she helped me get the last of my tubs cleaned and stacked together like clear plastic Russian dolls in the van. Then she guided my van back to the smoker, a job I could have done in my sleep and have, but I was glad for the help none-the-less. As I was attaching the safety-chains I felt her hand on my hip. "Papa?" Looking back at her I saw her bite her lip then she step into my arms and placed a soft kiss on my mouth, more gentle than any I had received from her up to that point. Still unsure, I placed my hands on her hips and returned the kiss. Not pushing simply holding her to me, enjoying this intimate exchange nearly as much as the night before, certainly far more than the one this morning. Horse Pens 40 Then she was leaned into my chest. Her head pressing my shirt against the wolf tattoo over my heart. "Vickie?" I startled when her hand was in my pocket, and then she rose up on her tip toes and kissed my nose in a way so peculiar it was amusing. Puzzled, I watched her ass in those jeans as she hurried off towards a black car full of wenches waiting on her. The car drove past me and all three girls waved, with Vickie blowing me a kiss and making a phone with her thumb and pinky finger. From my pocket I pulled a folded note. "Thank you for last night. It was wonderful to be held by you, to be loved by you. I wanted to recreate that feeling this morning but couldn't make myself be as uninhibited in the light of day. To put it simply, I got scared. Scared of what I was feeling when I had your cock inside me. ... Dan. You see, I too, have had a few bad times with bad people. I've let myself be used by people that wanted to take my innocence and trust of older men and use it. You didn't seem to be that kind of man to me. By this morning I was sure of it. But I ... I suddenly wanted more. A lot more. Too much. I want to call you Papa true, but I also wanted to beg you to call me your little girl. But the whole time I was wanting that, I kept remembering what you had told me about that girl from your past and I didn't want you to think about me like you think about her. As someone sick. I got wrapped up in that, and this morning wasn't as good. I'm sorry ... Dan. Call me. Soon. I want to talk about us maybe getting together again ... Papa? ~ Vickie." Looking across the grass and rock covered fields at the disappearing red taillights of that black car, I watched till they were out of sight. My mind was a roll with what I had just read. I kept going back over those simple words all the way out to the gate where I had to stop to sign myself out with the same sleepy guard I had seen the first night. "See you here next year," I told him as I was about to drive off. "Nope. Didn't you hear? This is the last Ren Faire here. The site owners are just going to do bluegrass festivals from now on." The guy checked my name off his clip boarded list. "Really? Well that's a shame. It's such a nice site for these faires. Oh well, I may still come back here. Bluegrass music fans have to eat as well, and I can do beer-can-chicken as easily as turkey legs." He nodded, yawned and left me without another word. The prick. The drive down the zigzaggy road was as sharp and narrow as the ride up had been. I kept my eyes open for druids lost on the side of the road, or off in the woods, but nope. Galen seemed to have made it down the hill okay. At the bottom I drove to the nearby Exxon station and was about to get out to fill-up for the drive back home when I stopped. I took the letter from my pocket and read again the line that stunned me. "I ... I suddenly wanted more. A lot more. Too much. I want to call you Papa, true, but I also wanted to beg you to call me your little girl." Taking a deep breath, I swallowed down the uncertainty and pulled out my cell phone. Flipping it open, I dialed the number from the letter. "Hello?" Her voice was sleepy, like I might have awakened her. I could hear soft music in the background from a car stereo. "Hey, Vickie." "Dan?" "Yeah. I just wanted to tell you something right quick, maybe while I have the courage to say it." I looked up at the sky, the growing sea of twinkling lights, and the river of stars that was the Milky Way. "Thank you for last night. I will cherish the memory of that for the rest of my life." "Me too. But Dan ..." "Let me finish." I interrupted. "I just wanted to tell you this. You can call me Papa as much as you want." Swallowing, I licked my dry lips, tasting a ghost of her kiss again. "I just wanted to tell you that, and to let you know I'll be calling soon about us getting back together. Your Papa will call real soon, little girl." I heard her gasp over the phone. "So you be good till then, my little girl. Or your Papa might just have to give you a spanking, when I see you next time." I grinned. "Now, go back to sleep. Night, night." "Night, night, Papa." After the phone clicked dead, I sat there at that gas station for a long time, thinking, remembering, even worrying a little, till I finally fueled up and began that long drive home. From the last Ren Faire at Horse Pens 40. (I would like to thank my editor patientlee, for her time and effort beta reading, and correcting the mistakes in this story. Thank you, lovely. As always any mistakes you see now are all mine.)